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4 _ 

y^„/._,,..u (J) 








0. W. WIGHT, A.M. 


VOL. I. 




' \j r A it u j - 



■w'Vjr ^j/ 




Hadhob dk Sta&/8 OrauKTf which we agree with 
James Maddntosh in rq^arding as the greatest prodnctio 
f enubine geniiifly constitatea, in our aeries of Frendi Olaa 
the foorth and fifth Tolnmes of her wt^ka. The reader i 
look in the first Tolmne for Biography, Critical Estimates^ '. 
li(>graphical Notice, etc 

We hare nsed the translation published by Morray, in II 
We know not who was its author. It shows a mng ^lff p e 
bination of ability and carelessness. We hare spent alz 
labor enough in its careful revision to hare made a new tr 
lation, and, if we are not mistaken, the result is a better tr 
lation than could hare been made by either par^ al 
Madame de Stall's style, in which there is expressed a eons 
admixture (thus to speak) of indefinite sentiment and defi 
thought, is difficult to translate welL 

Madame de Stall's book abounds in quotations fimn the 
Oerman authors. The English translator took these al 
second hand, through the French. Except in two or threi 
stances, we have substituted translations made directly i 
'the German. It is almost useless to remark what a shada 
a shadow must be an ode of Elopstock or a ballad of Ooi 
when distilled through a language wholly different firam 
German into English. 

Our notes, drawn from too many sonrtea to be indicated li 
are equal to nearly half the matter of this. t^. Onrpriac 

i^ii tD tW pifM rim IhdMM aa sun wralei 

lafoctuk Aw fit eM lum ben addsd, wUd eonpM* 
A* Nnqr «f GffMB UtemtOK, raioHpbr, nd niokigr, 
VtkidfaitMidedtoMirnMtiitaR ban ia ngarA to Uh 
MdleetMl i^actHM «r Gcmugrt M «t lad whrt «« whbod 
t* av n mA brttv iqnMd I7 ab. 0^^— wd vbo bu 
• btttar titis thM bt to ^Mk of faUHMtwl Qwn^r ^-4b«l 
«• ^wDr adopt bli iNgMgi 1 

'. *'n«tiitbtvMiHtoerftgfM«pMpli^fll«id7nUtidto 
«■ is M004 ki(MBa^ cbuMtir, idmdflf atMgb IfttM M^ 
«MiM of ealtan, witb tbt VM u< AugM thai bftTC drtb^ 
galrtiilt^ Bka eaiNT ia othv aatiooib Niy, pnfanpi tb*^ 
fattOMtad Urtny of Um OoniM k Bol wWhent pNaUiV a^ 
tnMioa oa two grooadit Ant,tbal tbc^an a wpuato i»* 
xra«d pwjde ; tlut id them one of the two grand itom-triboe, 
iraB wliich ^'inodeni.£nrop««n eonntrice derive thoir popn- 
latioB ud ipeeeh, u'eeen growing up dietinot, end in lorontl 
partioiiUn following ita own ctmne ; eoeondly, thet bj ecoi- 
deat and by dowtti tho Gennena Here more then once boon 
feoad plejing the highest pert in Earopeen culture; et mora- 
thea one era the grand Tendeneiei of Eorope have flnt imbo<t 
led themaelToe into Mtionin Oennanj; the main hnttle bo- 
twaea the New and the Old haa bocn fought and gained tholfo. 
Wa BwntioB onlj the BwInJUroIt and liUthoT'eBofonnatloa. 
The Ocrmaai have not indeed ao many cloarical worka to ei^ 
>ibit aa amne other satima j a Shalupeare, a Dante, hu not 
]fak beea noogniiad among them ; nererthflleei, they too have_ 
bad tbatr Taadten and inairired Sii^en ; and in regard to 
ptpaltf Hjrtbdogj, traditionaij poMeatlou, aad apirlt, what 
vaBa^eall tha iurtiaUaU Poetiy of a natloa, and what b 
tt nlmamr of to ^okea or written Foetty, they wfll be foond 




object hai been to gire Bbandnnl aod rclinblo iafonnatlon la 
regard to the period udco Madamo do Statil wrote. 

luporUuit Appendices have been ndded, which complete 
the nirrcy of Qcrnian Literature, rhiloaophy, and Theology. 

WcbadtaUadad tOM7MMthta(r Imm tansud to ths 
faldleetnl bpOTtMN «f Oonur, bat «• flid wkftt m wl*ad 
«• iV M nadi battsr MqmMd 1^ Ifr. q^l^^-ud wke ha 
«• ^adlif tdopi M> kasMg* I 
'. *'n«wlithtipaelukerftgiMlp«apKcloi^Nk«idt» 

taki of edton^ with te mi aad AugM tUl bn* dkO^ 
fiUed Uh Bkt OMMT Ib oUwr MtloM. Ni^, paAipi tb»^ 
lirtdlMtnl hktay of th« GoMMM b aol v^oot p«eaiiH ■!• 
tnetiM OK two gmmdai ftnt,thal thajkH * lepnaU «»• 
nusd poople ; tlut in them one of the two gntnd itom-tribot, 
from which idl tnodem.Earopwn oonntrice derive thoir popn- 
latioa Mid ipeeeh, ireeen, growing up dietinot, end in lerenl 
pAitieeUn folIowiDg its own oonno *, locondlj, thet by aco>- 
dent ud hy doeert, the Geimeni hftre more thsn once been 
Jbosd pUjing the highoet pArt in Earopesn culture; ettnoro 
tbaa one ere the grand Tendonoiee of Europe have first iinbo^ 
ied themaclvce into action in Germany ; the main battle bo- 
t«Mn the New and the Old hu bocn fought and gained thoh). 
TTa uentlon only the SwIm Revolt ud Luthor'i^Befoniiatlon. 
Tbt Oeniuaa have not Indeed to many duaical works to ex- 
^bU M aome other natiooa ; » Sbalupeare, a Dante, hu not 
j«l been reoogniied among them ; nererthelee^ they too hav«, 
had their Teedwn and laa^red SIngfn ; and Is regard to' 
pepdar Mythology, trwUtionaiy poamaeloM, and iplrlt, what 
wtm^eill the MortietlaU Foetr7 of ft BiUoD, and what b 
ft nliH i nt of to ^» Of written Po>tt7, they will be fooBd 

1 tmar ^y My ott» aodi»pwpl» - 


Madamk de SrifiL^s Oebxant, which we agree with Sir 
James MaddntoBh in rq^arding as the greatest production of 
feminine genins, constitutes, in onr series of French Classics, 
the fourth and fifth Tolnmes of her works. The reader mnst 
look in the first rolnme for Biograph j, Critical Estimates^ Bib- , 
liographical Notice, etc. 

We hare used the translation published by Murray, in 1814. 
We know not who was its author. It shows a nngnlar com- 
bmation of ability and carelessness. We hare spent almost 
labor enough in its careful revision to hare made a new trana- 
latioui and, if we are not mistaken, the result is a better trana- 
lation than could have been made by either par^ alone. 
Madame de Stall's style, in which there is expressed a constant 
admixture (thus to speak) of indefinite sentiment and definite 
thought, is difficult to translate welL 

Madame de StafiFs book abounds in quotations firom the best 
German authors. The English translator took these all at 
second hand, through the French. Except in two or three in- 
stances, we hare substituted translations made directly from « 
'the German. It is aknost useless to remark what a shadow of . 
a shadow must be an ode of . Elopstock or a ballad of Goethe . 
when distilled through a language wholly dilTeront firom the ^ 
German into English. 

Our notes, drawn from too many sources to be indicated hers^; 
are equal to neariy half the matter of thd.t^ Onrpdno^. 



object hu been to giTo abundniit and reliable Information In 
regard to th« period aioco Madame do Statil wroto. 

ItnportoDt Appendices liavo been ridded, wliicli complcto 
tlte vincj ot QcrmaD Literature, Phitosopliy, and Tlieology. 

Wo had Inlcadcd to lay somothing hero in regard to tho 
Intellcetual importaacB of Oernianj, but wo find what ve wlahcd 
to uj ao much better expreiiacd bjr Mr. Carljrlo, — and who bu 
• better title than ho to ipcaV or Intellectual Gormanj f — tliat 
wt gladly adopt his language i 

" Tbcro is tbo spcctacto of a great people, cloioljr related to 
at in blood, language, eharocter, adranciDg tbroagh Uruwn con- 
tnctct of culture, with tho eras and change* that have distln* 
goiihed tho liko career in other nationg. >'ny, pcrliapi th« 
iatcUectOkl biitor^ of tho Gcrmani ig not without pocultai at- 
tnction on two groandi : flnt, that thoy are i teparato un- 
imxad people; that in them one trf tho two grand lUm-tHboa, 
fiom which idl nwdem Earopoan oountrict dorive their popn- 
lotioB k&d ipesch, ii' Men, growing up diatinet, and in nreral 
pftitknUts fUIowing iu own ooaroo ; eocondly, that bj ocot- 
dmt and hj deoertt tho Oermtni hmre more than onco been 
foaad jdaying tho highest part in European coltnre ; at more 
thu one era the grand Tendoneiei of Enropo hare flnt imbod- 
iad themoelvea into action in Gormanj; the main bnttlo bo- 
tvven the New and the Old hog been fought and gained iho^ 
We mentloB onJj the SwIm BotoU ud Lutbor*! Bofomation. 
Tbe QcnuoBs hare not Indeed m tnonj eloaalcol worke to e» 
Jiibit H nme other aatione ) » Bhalupeare, a Dante, hae not 
j«l been noognlsed tmong tiiem ; nerertheleae, thej too ban, 
bad their Teoeben ud insirired Stngen ; utd in r^^ to 
popnlor Ujrtttologr, traditlooary pofleessioDe, and eplrit, what 
w iwj can the martiaiittU Poetij of a nation, ud what U 
tbtelamntof Ita ipoken or written Poetrj, thexwlll be fimod 


M^ftAinB DE SrifiL^s Gebxant, which we agree with Sir 
James MaddntoBh in regarding as the greatest production of 
feminine genius, constitutes, in our series of French Classics, 
the fourth and fifth Tolumes of her works. The reader must 
look in the first rolume for Biographj, Critical Estimates^ Bib- ; 
liographical Notice, etc. 

We hare used the translation published bj Murray, in 1814. 
We know not who was its author. It shows a nngnlar com- 
bmation of ability and carelessness. We have spent almost 
labor enough in its careful revision to have made a new trana- 
latioUf and, if we are not mistaken, the result is a better trana- 
lation than could haye been made by either par^ alone. 
Madame de Stall's style, in which there is expressed a constant 
admixture (thus to speak) of indefinite sentiment and definite 
thought, is difficult to translate well. 

Madame de StafiFs book abounds in quotations from the best 
German authors. The English translator took these all at 
second hand, through the French. Except in two or three in- 
stances, we hare substituted translations made directly from « 
'the German. It is aknost useless to remark what a shadow of . 
a shadow must be an ode of Elopstock or a ballad of Goethe . 
when distilled through a language wholly different flrom the . 
German into English. 

Our notes, drawn from top many sources to be indicated hers^ : 
are equal to nearly half the matter of the. t^ Onrpdno^* 


object bu been to girt abundant and rcliftblo Inrormatlon In 
irgurd to the period eIdco Madame do Statil wroto. 

Important Appcndiccn liavc been added, wtilcli complete 
tbo niiTcj of Oermaa Literature, Pbilosophj, and Tlieologj. 

Wo bad Intended to laj GOmothing bcro in regard to tbo 
intcUcctnal importancs of Gcnnanj, bat wo Qnd what wo wished 
to nj (0 much better expressed bj Mr. Corljlo, — and who bu 
ft bottor title than ho to speak of intellectual Qormanj ? — that 
wa gbuUf adopt bis language i 

" Thcro is the tpectaclo of a great people, clowly related to 
OS ia blood, language, character, odrancing through flfteon coo- 
tarlea of culture, with tho eras and changes that hare diRlli>> 
guished tho like caroor in other nation*. N'aj, jierhaps th« 
intellectual history of tlio Germans is not without peculiar at 
tnetioB on two grounds : first, that thoj m a aoparato uiv- 
imMd JMoplo ; that in tbem one of the two grand iteni'triboi, 
fidin whieh aU modern Xnropoan ooontrica derive their popn* 
latioa and ipMch, ir wen, growing up distinet, and in wTeroI 
paitienlan following its own coono; Bccondt/, that bj dcoh 
doDt and bj doaort, the Germans bare more than once been 
feand plajing the highest part in European coltaro ; at more 
tbaa one era tbe grand Tendencies of Enropo hare first imbod- 
iod themtelres into action in Germany; the main bnttlo bo* 
twoen the New and the Old has been fought and gained tboh). 
We EKnttoa on! j the Bwin BotoU ud Luthor*! Boformation. 
The Ocnuana hare not indeed h manj cloarical worka to «» 
Jitbit ai aoiDa other nationa ; a Bhakipearo, a Dante, baa not 
7*1 bean noognlted among them ; nerertheleaa, tho^ too hara^ 
had thair TeadMra and tuirired Kngett ; and lit r^rd to 
popolar UjibxAagy, toadiUooorj poesCBBioDa, and rplrit, what 
Ti nay nil the iaarHaUaU Poetry of a nation, and what la 
tbt alemaat of Ila ^kra «r written Poeti/, Utoj will be foood 
iWlor tv tBf otttir aodatn peoplfc 


*' TIm Hiatorio Stmroyor of Gorman Pootrj will dbserro a 
remarkable nation stmggling ont of Paganism | flragmenta of 
that atom Suporstition, sarod from the general wreck, and itOI, 
amid the new order things, carrying back our riaw, In fidnt 
reflexes, into the dim primeral time. By slow degrees the 
chaos of the Northern Immigrations settles into a new and 
fi^r world ; arts adranoe \ little by little a flmd of Knowledge 
of Power orer Nature, is accnmnlated for man ; fteble glim* 
merings, eren of a higher knowledge, of a poetic, break forth ; 
till at length in the SwaUamJSra, as it is named, a blase of 
true though simple Poetry bursts orer Germany, more splen* 
did, we might say, than the Troubadour Period of any other 
nation ) for that famous Nibdungm Sang, produced, at leasl 
ultimately fashioned in those times, and still so insignificant in 
those, is altogether without parallel elsewhere. 

^ To this period, the essence of which was young Wonder, 
and an enthusiasm for which Chiralry was still the fit expo- 
nenty there succeeds, as was natural, a period of Inquiry, a Di- 
dactic period ; wherein, among the Germans, as elsewhere, 
many a Hugo von TVimbcig dolirers wise saws and moral apo- 
thegms to the general edification : later, a Town-clerk of Stras* 
burg sees his Ship of FooU translated into all living languages, 
twice into Latin, and read by Kings ; the Apologue of jR^ynaittPMcl, 
(hi Foat^ gathering itself together from sources remote and near, 
assumes its Low-German rcsturo, and becomes the darling of. 
high and low ; nay, still lives with us, in rude genial vigor, as 
one of the most remarkable indigenous productions of tiie Mid* 
die Ages. Nor is acted poetry of this- kind wanting { tho 
Spirit of Inquiry translates itself into Deeds which are poetical, 
as well as into words : already at the opening of the fourteenth 
century, Germany witnesses the first attcrtion of political right, 
the first vhidication of Man against NoUeman, in the early 
Ustoiy of tha German Swiss. AM agalni two oentuiies later, 

the first assertion of [otoUcclaal right, the flret TindlcaUon of 
Man Dgalost Clergyman, in llic history of Latlier'a Ilofomia< 
tion. Mcanivliiio tlio PrcM bos bognn its incalculable tnstc; 
tLo indigenous Fiction of the Gormnn*. what wo hnvo called 
»hcir innrticuUlo Fooli^-, issues 'n innumcroblo Volkt-B^her, 
(PcoploVBoolu), tho progeny and kindred of which still live 
in all European countries ; tht Fconlo hara their Tragedy and 
their Comedy; Tyll EaUjitpiegtl shalccs every diaphragm^ 
with laughter; the mdcst heart quails with awe at the wild 
nythua of Fautt. 

" ^ith Lnther, howeTer. the Didactic Tendency has reached 
ita poetic acme ; and now wo must see it aMume a prosaio 
character, and Poetry for a long while decline. The Spirit of 
Inquiry, of Criticism, is pushed beyond the limite, or too ei- 
cloaiTely cnltivatcd ; what had don« w moch, ia capable of 
doii^ all ; ITndentanding la alone listened to, while Fancy and 
Imagination langaish inaetire, or are forcibly atifled ; and all 
poetic enltoie gradnally diea away, Aa if with the high reacH 
lot* genioa, and noble achierements, of ita Luthera and Hat- 
t«B8, the genioa of the country had ezhansted itself we behojd 
geoeratioD after generation of mere Proeoista aacceod theaa 
bii^ Faalmist^ Scienee indeed advancea, practical manipula- 
tion in all kinda improrea ; Germany haa ita Cnpemica, Hevela, 
Goerickea, Eeplen ; later, a Leibnitx opena the path of tra« 
Logic, and teachea the mysteries of flgnre and Number : hot 
the finer education of mankind seems tX » stand. Instead tX 
Poetic recognition and worship, we hare stolid Theologic con- 
If Ofer^y' w atiS ahallowcr FreethinUng ; pedantry, senility, 
BOCMumtang, erery spedea of Idolatry and Affectation holds 
avaj. "^ World has lost ita beuty, jUfe its infinite m^es^, 
M if tftll A""^.f^ '*_"*™ "" loiiger dirine : instead of ad- 
ggintioB aad oeation of the Trne, there Is at best CTitidBm 
sod denal s< tlw Falae ; to LnUtar ther* has Moctedad Tht^ 

bditob's psxfjloi. 9 

mariofl. In this ora, bo UDpootical for all Europe, Germuix 
torn in pieces by a Thirty Years^ War, and ita conseqnenoeii 
is pnHsminontly prosaic ; its few Singers are feeble echoes of 
foreign models little better than themselves. No Shakspeare, 
no Milton appears there ; snch, indeed, would hare appeared 
earlier if at all, in the current of Oerman Ustorj ; but instead, 
they hare only at best Opitzes, Flemmings, Logans, as we bad 
our Queen Anne Wits ; or, in their Lohenstdnea^ ^U?^ 
HofEmannswaldaus, though in inrerse order, an unintentiond 
parody of our Drydens and Lees. 

"Nevertheless from every moral death there is a new birth ; 
in this wondrous course of his, man may indeed linger, bat 
cannot retrograde or stand stilL In the middle of last cen- 
tury, from among the Parisian Erotics, rickety Sentimentalism, 
Court aperies, and hollow Dulness, striving in all hopeless 
courses, we behold the giant spirit of Oermany awaken as from 
long slumber ; shake away these worthless fetters, and, by its 
Lessings and Klopstocks, announce, in true Oerman dialect, 
that the Germans also are men. Singular enough in its cir- 
cumstances was this resuscitation ; the work as of a ' spirit 
on the waters,' — a movement agitating the great popular 
mass ; for it was favored by no court or king : all sovereign- 
ties, even the pettiest, had abandoned their native Literature, 
their native language, as if to irreclaimable barbarism. The 
greatest King produced in Germany since Barbarossa's time, 
Frederick the Second, looked coldly on the native endeavor, 
and saw no hope but in aid from France. However^ the na- 
tive endeavor prospered without aid : Lessing's announcement 
did not die away with him, but took clearer utterance, and 
more inspired modulation from his followers ; in whose works 
it now BpeakA, not to Germany alone, but to the whole world 
The results of this last Period of German Literature are of 
deep 4gnificano^ the depth of which is perhaps but now be 


coming Ti^Ie. Here, too, it may bo, u in other caaes, the 
WftDt of the age has first taken voice and shape in Qcrmany ; 
that change from Negation to Affirmation, from DestroctioD to 
Reconstruction, for which all thmkcn in eTcry coontry are 
oow prepared, ia perhaps olrcodjr in action there. In the 
aobkr litokton of flw 0«nBU^ mj mmob, b tba ndbMiti 
flf ft Mw ^httna m. wUA U k ftr tUi, ■ad for nooM^ 
(MMfttkH tomrit oBt lad mBK TIh aadnt CMttln 
laffaitiaa, U wodl nem, k rtm pMribk ia fluH agM ; ftk ft 
llM vkn Skaptkfag^ RifoUtr* Seamlffy, hftd IriOund Ufc 
MfftmddaMrttiad oar gqwt proipaet wm M tlw/«te 
mirtfgt, tai «tm onr BTrat eoali fttttr fant ft deftUnoag or 
dMpafabc toiri, tU MoM^'^inBd luu igidB noote fton tlmt 
Honb nfrtAing itowM, towudi i^di the batter qfaOi or 
■nHtfoM are hiitwhft If aot to ditak, jst wMlUlr iftd 
kopofUIr to «xuitBe. If tlM oUer Liteni7 BMarj at 0» 
■rnaaj hu Uw o(Hnmon attractiona, whkh In a gnat«r or le« 
d<sna belong to the ncceastro epoclis of otbor mch Hiitoriei, 
iu nower Literatoro, and tha hiitorieal delineation of thli^ haa 
•B intenct nch aa belong! to bo other." 

Carljle admowledgei that thli bode of Madame de Btafll 
hai done away with the pr^odicee agalnrt the Oermani. We 
■ead it finth In a sew drcee, with careftal and copiow annota- 
tation, and hope it aaj prore ft true guide to thote who are 
mMag Infomatkn In regard to » great people. 

0. W. W»Bt 


• • 





4 IS 

i« 11 



OnARSR L— Of tho Aspect of GeriBAQX •••••« •••••^ Wf 

OoAP. II.— Of the Moimen and Cbanoton of the Qonnam, • •,#•»•••• 10 

/OnAP. III.— Of tlioWomon » ••••• ^ 

OuAP. IV.— Of tho Iniluenoo of tho Spirit of OhiTili/ on Lot* and 

Honor..,, ,••..• ».».«m •••«•*••<•••» il 

GuAV. v.— Of Southern Germanx..! ••••••••••••^••••••t 

Obap. VI.— Of Auitria ...• « 4.k.... 

OiiAF. VII.— OfVionnA »•• 4....« 

CuAV. Vm.-Of Societj M 

OuAT. IX.— Of the Dealre among Foreigner! of Imitating the Frenoli 

' Spirit «., » .,« «• 

Ohap. X.— Of •uporoillona F0U7 and benerolent liedioeritjr* ••••••••• Ti 

Graf. XI.— Of thoSpiritof Convenation TT 

GuAP. XII.— Of the German LanguagOi in ita Xifeota upon the Spiiil of * 

OonTonation • • •••••••••• 

Grap. XIII.— Of Northern Germanj • •••••••• 

Grap. XIV.— Sazonj • 97 

Gbap. XV.— Weimar 100 

Grap. XVL— Pmasia 105 

Grap. XVII.— Berlin Ill 

, Gbap. XVIIL— Of the German Unirenitiea..^ • 110 

Gbap. XUL— Of partieiilarInBtltationsibrXdQoation,ndGhailtahto * 

EaUbliahmenU • » lit 


\ Tn Fin ov lamLi 




_* • ■' 


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teA». nr^indHid in 

p. T^-Xlopflodc •••• UX 

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U OaeUr, 181S. 

In 1810| I put the manuflcript of this worlC| on Qetmukj^ 
into the hands of the bookseller, who had published Corinna. 
As I maintained in it the same oj^nions, and preserved the same 
silence respecting the present goremment of the French, as in 
my former writiDgs, I flattered mjself tl^^t I shoold be per- 
mitted to publish this work also : vet, a few days after I had 
dispatched my manuscript, a decree of a veiy singular descrip- 
tion appeared on the subject of the liberty of the press ; it de- 
clared ^ that no work could be printed without having boon 
examined by censors." Yeiy well; it was nsual in France, 
under the old rigime^ for literary works to be submitted to the 
examination of a censorship ; the tendency of public opinion 
was then towards the feeling of liberty, which rendered such a 
restraint a matter very little to be dreaded; a little article, 
however, at the end of the new regulation declared, ''that 
when the censors should have examined a work and permitted 
its publication, booksellers should be authorised to publish it^ 
but that the Minister of the Police should still have a right to 
suppress it altogether, if he should think fit so to do." Hie 
meaning of which is, that such and such forms should be 
adopted until it should be thought fit no longer to abide bj 
them : a law was not necessary to decree what was in &ct the 
I absence of all law; it would have been better to have relied 
simply upon the exercise of absolute power. 

My bookseller, however, took upon himself the 
of the publication of my book, after submitting it to the 
sors, and thus our contract was made. I came to reside withfai 



tofrtj leagnei of Paris, to gaperintend the printing of the work, 
mad it was opon this occasion that, for the last time, I breathed 
the air of France. I had, howeyer». abrtainffd te this book, as 

win be see ", fr^ !?a^lF'ng ^"J ^fli>5*feinniinn the political state 

of German y : I snpposed mjself to be writing at the distance 
of Sttj years from the present time ; but the present time will 
not suffer itself to be forgotten. Sereral of the censors exam* 
ined my manuscript; they suppressed the different passages 
which I hare now restored and pointed out by notes. With 
the exception, howerer, of these passages, they allowed the 
work to be printed, as I now publish it^ for I have thought it 
my duty to make no alteration in it It appears to me a curi- 
ous thing to show what the work is, whidh is capable even 
now in FVance, of drawing down the most cruel persecution on 
the head of its author. 

At the moment when this work was about to appear, and 
when the ten thousand copies of the first edition had been 
su^tually printed ofi^ the Minister of the Police, known under 
the name of General Savary, sent bis gcnsdarmes to the house 
of the bookseller, with orders to tear the whole edition in 
pieces, and to place sentinels at the different entrances to the 
warehouses, for fear a single copy of this dangerous writing 
should escape. A commissary of police was charged with the 
ftopcrintcndcnce of this expedition, in which General Savary 
easily obtained the victory; and the poor commissary, it is 
aaid, died of the fatigue he underwent in too minutely assur- 
ing himself of the destruction of so great a number of volumes, 
or rather in seeing them transformed into paper perfectly white 
upon which no trace of human reason remained ; the price of 
the paper, valued at twenty louis by the police, was the only 
indemnification which the bookseller obtained from the min- 

At the same time that the destruction of my work was going 
on at Parisi I received in the country an order to deliver up 
tho copy from which it had been printed, and to quit Franoe 
IB IbuMUid-twenty hours. The conscripts are almost the only 
peiao&a I know for whom fouismd-twenty hours are considered 


a raffldent time to prepare for a jonmey ; I wrote, therelbn^ 
to the Minifter of the Police that I should require ei|^t daji 
to nrocare money and my carriage. The following it ti^e letter 
whLeh he tent me in answer : 

OiVBKAL Pduci, MmiUr^9 Q/bt, ) . 
Pant, Sd OeUbtt, 1810. I 

** I receiredi Madam, the letter that yon did me the lumor 
to write me. Yonr son will hare apprised yon, that I bad 
no objection to yonr postponing yonr departure for seven or 
eight days. I beg yon will mi^ that time sufficient for the 
arrangements you still haTO to make, because I cannot grant 
you more. 

^Tht cause of the order which I haye signified to yoo, ie 
not to bo looked for in the silence you haTO preeerred with 
reepoct to the Emperor in your last work; that would be a 
mistake ; no place could be found in it worthy of hun ; but 
your banishment is a natural consequence of Uie courae you 
hare constantly pursued for some years past It appeared to 
moi that the air of this country did not agree with you, and 
we Me not pt reduced to seek for models among the people 

* Your last work is not IVendi; it is I who bare put a aUqp 
to the publication of it I am tony for the loss the bookseller 
must sMtaint but it is not possible for ma to anfier it to 

*" You know« lladam^ that you weM only pewsitted to ^«ii 
OoffK b^CMne }>Mi had exprased a desire to go to AaeriesL 
IT «iT pti^k<imor suffditd you to nmra in the 4epai^^ 
Lw e H CVr^ x^ms were not to look upon tkal iaM|feMe an m 
r^^t^NMOCkia of ^ oi4eia wbick had Wesi giwesi wMi leqpeci to 
3V4iL Al p rsw t 3Wi obl%:e me to «mm thssn to be itiiia^i 
esK«toi Mi T^Ns bai;^ <«^ nMisoV to ati— e for it 

^UkemilOMli^' to imisii Ae mcwrisn of ffca 
e^itrl biiiChwbMkWia die oqiMHiier ^timal WW 

'lttpaltVabm,aut JOB Ima obBgtd B* to a 
aqr MfrnfeadHn wftt jtn hf m ma a ma m of Mraritj; it 
wmU hm baea bmi* agnMbk to aw to b»ra bad o^ to 

attr jw the hiti ■!■ of tlw htft aaaritorticB with whWi 

I hm Aa hoMr to H Madan, Toarn^ hambb and Tan 

"Tki Dun Ml Bonw." 


«?.& I taw gaaiWM, Madaa^ far mairttontng to jow Aa 
pasta «f IioriM^ U BoehalU^ Bomdaan, and Boohdfac^ aa 
bMBgtheoalf pottaatwhiidiToaaatijaibaA; IbegToniriD 
lat ma kaow wUdk of thai j<n doon.'*' 

I ihall add aona taflaotioDi iip<». thia lettar, althooj^ it 
^pean to na earioaa anongh ia ttnit " It appaand to bm^" 
aail Geaand Savatj, "that tkt ^ tf Oit eawifrir ^ aof 
mgtm iaif& fw;" wIutagneiooaBiannergf aanonDdngto* 
wonuui, then, aksl tho niotier of three children, tlie daaghter 
of a nan irbo bad tcrved Ftanco vvith lo mocli fideli^, that 
ahe was buuahed forever from the place of her birth, without 
tmng Boffered, in any manner, to protest against a puniahmenti 
aatocmed the next in sererity to death I There is a French 
Tsndenlle, in which a buli^ boasUng of his politeness towards 
tiioae peiiMU whom he tahes to prison, says, 

" Anid ]« nds almri da tout oenx qua J'srrfite." ■ 
I know not whether snch was the intention of General Sarary . 

He adds, that U* French art not rtdvetd to uek fir modtU 
among th* ptcjiU I adtnirt. These people are the English 
first, and in many respects the Gennans. At all orents, I 
think I cannot be accosed of not loring France. I bare shown 
Int too mnoh seosibiiitjr in being exiled from a conntij where 
I hare ao manj objecta of affection, and where those who ara 
dear to aw delight tne lo much I Bnt, notwithstanding thu 

• naa^MoriUiPostMi^vMleAsUdBatkFMtatrthrgiMaM 
•"BelMlmdbjdllmMt." ~ 


to my j$aity ; to I kiMir tliat thara wu no one then in 
nrftnoe^ iWiai the h^gfaatt to the loweat^ who might not hate! 
been found worthy of being made mihappj. I wu tonnented' 
in an the oonoena of my liflii in nil the tender points of mj 
chnraeier, and power condeecen de d to tike the trouble of b^ 
ooming weU acqoainted with me, in order the more eflhetnally 
to enhance my rafferinga. Not being able then to dkana 
that power by the limple aaerifioa of my talenti^ and laaolTed 
not to employ them in its aarrioe^ I aaemed to ftid, to the botf- 
torn of my hearty the adTioe my fiither had giren bMi and I 
left my paternal home. 

I thidc it my duty to make ihia calnmniated book known to 
the public — ^iUa book^ the source of ao many tronUea; and, 
thoQgh General SaTary told me in bia letter that my wofkiaot 
not IVemekf as I certainly do not donnder him to be the repre> 
sentativo of Fhmce, it ia to Frenchmen such as I hare known 
them, that I shoold with confidence address a production, in 
which I have endeavored, to the best of my abiliticsi to height^ 
en the glory of the works of the human mind. 

Germany maybe considered, from its geographical situation, 
as the heart of Europe, and the great association of the Conti- 
nent can never recover its independence but by the independ- 
ence of this country. Dificrenco of language, natural bounda- 
ries, the recollections of a common history, contribute alto- 
gether to give birth to those great individual existences of 
mankind, which we call nations ; certain proportions are ne- 
cessary to their existence, certain qualities distinguish them ; 
and, if Germany were united to France, the consequence would 
be, that France would also be united to Germany, and the 
Frenchmen of Hamburg, like the Frenchmen of Rome, would 
by degrees effect a change in the character of the countrymen 
of Henry the Fourth : the vanquished would in time modify 
the victors, and in the end both would be losers. 

I have said in my work that the QwrnnnB wen no^ a nation; 
assuredly, they are at this moment heroically disproving that 
assertkm. But, nevertheless, do we not stiU see some Gennan 
coontriea txpom themaelvea by fighting against their oonntiy 






MAY 4 '^'^ 



which tiinmind it,BBiks comniiy pf ikomgki; into how many 
iiobla aetioM hM this thought been tnuufonnedl .IIiaI to 
whidk_Ae Ji[iitenis of Fhiloaophen led the waj it coining to 
pM^andthe uiiiqpendence of mind ie aboat tola/ theibiuid*- 
tiffn at iht fitdfpwidffli^f of natiom^ 


Madams dk Stall's Okbillkt, which we agree with Sir 
James Maddntoeh in rq^rding as the greatest prodnctioa of 
feminine genius, oonstitates, in our series of Frendi OlavicB^ 
the fourth and fifth rolnmes of her works. The reader most 
look in the first rolnme for Biographj, Critical Estimates^ Bib-, 
liographical Notice, etc 

We hare nsed the translation published bj Mnrraj, in 1814. 
We know not who was its author. It shows a Mng^liy com- 
bination of abili^ and carelessness. We hare spent almost 
labor enough in its careful reyision to hare made a new trans- 
lation, and, if we are not mistaken, the result is a better trans- 
lation than could hare been made by either party alone. 
Madame de Stall's style, in which there is expressed a constant 
admixture (thus to speak) of indefinite sentiment and definite 
thought, is difficult to translate welL 

Madame de Stafil's book abounds in quotations bcm the best 
German authors. The English translator took these all at 
second hand, through the Frendu Except in two or three in* 
stances, we hare substituted translations made directly from « 
'the German. It is almost useless to remark what a shadow of . 
a shadow must bo an ode of . Elopstock or a ballad of Goethe . 
when distilled through a language wholly difleront firom the ^ 
German into English. 

Our notei^ drawn from too many sources to be indicated hers^ ; 
are equal to nearly half the matter of thjs.t^ . Onrfdno^* 


■ddicted to the pleasures and the interests of the earth, aod, 
like their Jbnndere, the Romana, thoy alone knoir how to prac- 
tice the art of dominion. 

The Oermanic nationa almost conatantjy resisted the Romaa 
yoke; they were mora lately civilized, and by Christianity 
alone ; they passed instantaneously from a sort of barbarism 
to the refincineDt of Christian intercourse; the times of chiv- 
alry, tbo spirit of the middle ages, form their most lively recol- 
lectioDs; and although the learned of these countries bava 
■tudicd the Greek and Latin authors mere deeply oven than 
tbe Latin nations themsclvc!), the genius natural to Gonnui 
irritera is of a color rather Gothic than eloMical. Their imagi- \ 
cation delights in old lowers and bnttlcmonla, among sorcer- 
ewcs and spectres ; and inystcrics of a meditative and solitary 
nature form the principal charm of tlioir poetry. 

The analogy wbicb eiisls among all tlio Teutonic nations is 
' BDch as cannot be mistAkcn. The social dignity for which the 
En^Mi ue indebted to their conadtntion, aianrca ta them, it 
Is true, ■ decided saporiority over the fcst; novorlholess, tho 
iBtne tnita of character are constantly met with among all the 
different pcoi^ca of Germanic origin. They wore all distia- 
gniahed, from the earliest times, ^ their independence and 
Joydtj i they hare ever been goodand faithful ; and it is for 
tbia very reason, perhaps, that their writings nniTorsally boar 
an impreauon of melancholy ; for it often happen* to natkmi, 
aa to indrridnals, to raffct for their virtnea. 

The dnlization of the Sclaronlc tribes having been of much 
later date and of more npid growth than that of other people^ 
tiiere has been hitherto won among t horn moro Im i tation tt w 
M4jjn«1ity ; all that they pOBsesa of European growth ia French ; 
what they hare deiired from Asia is not yet snffldently devel- 
oped to enable their mitlngs to display the true character 
«Ueh would be natural to them. Thronghont literary Earopfl^ 
tiieti, there are bat tiro great dMsiont strongly marked : the 
Steritan which )■ Imitated from the andentsr <u>d that which 
oveeltBUithtvtha^Mioftbe^middlejVM; that which (n 
Sk Ofi^ nednd ftom th« genioa ti Pagaaim its odor and 

" TIio Historio Sorroyor of Gennan Poetiy will obferft i^ 
remarkable nation strnggling out of Paganiim } fragmanti of 
that stem Superstition, saved flrom the general mreeki and lUD, 
amid the new order things, carrying back our Tiew, bk fldnl 
rcfloxcsp into the dun primeTal time. By dow dqprees tbe 
chaos of the Northern Immigrations settles Into a new and 
fairer world ; arts adTance ; little by little a flmd of Enowledgt 
of Power over Nature, is accumdated f<v man ; ftebia gUnp 
merings, eren of a higher knowledge, of a poetio, break ibrth f 
till at length in the Swiibian Era^ as it Is namedi a Uaas of 
true though simple Poetry bursts over Germany, more spl«i» 
did, we might say, than the Troubadour Period of any other 
nation ; for that fiunous Nibdungtn Sangf produced, at leaal 
ultimately fashioned in those times, and still so Inslgnilkant la 
these, is altogether without parallel elsewhere. 

'^To this period, the essence of which was young Wondei; 
and an enthusiasm for which ChiTaliy was still the flt Oipo* 
nont, there succeeds, as was natural, a period of Inquiry, a Di- 
dactic period ; wherein, among the Germans, as dsewhere^ 
many a Ilugo von IVimberg delivers wise saws and moral apo* 
thogms to the general edification : later, a Town-clerk of Stria- 
burg sees his Ship of Fooh translated into all living langnageti 
twice into Latin, and road by Kings ; the Apologue of Btj/nardl^^ 
ih» Fo»^ gathering itself together from sources remote and near, 
assumes its Low-Gorman vesture, and becomes the darling of. 
high and low; nay, still lives with us, in rude genial vigor, at 
one of the most remarkable indigenous produetions of tiie Uid* 
dle Ages. Nor is acted poetry of this* kind wanting ; tli# 
Spirit of Inquiry translates itself into Deeds which are poetical, 
as well as into words : akeady at the opening of the fourteenth 
century, Germany witnesses the first attertion of political right, 
the first vindication of Man against Nobleman, In the tarl|y- 
history of the German Swiss. AM agabi, two oeatuiei ktsr» 


tortj leagoes of Paris, to superintend the printing of the work, 
and it was upon this occasion that, for the last time, I breathed 
tbe air of France. I had, howerer^.abstained in this book, as 

wiD be see y^ fnm mp\fmg '^"j ^fl?f *^'?"*_^P„^^^ J?^'?:!^^ ^^ 
of German y : I supposed mjself to be writing at tlie distance 

of fiffy years from the present time ; but the present time will 
not suffer itself to be foigottcn. Several of the censors exam- 
ined mj manuscript; they suppressed the different passages 
which I hare now restored and pointed out by notes. With 
the exception, however, of these passages, they allowed the 
work to bo printed, as I now publish it, for I have thought it 
my du^ to make no alteration in it It appears to mo a curi- 
ous thing to show what the work is, whidi is capable even 
now in Fhince, of drawing down the most cruel persecution on 
tlie head of its author. 

At the moment when this work was about to appear, and 
when the ten thousand copies of the first edition had been 
actually printed off, the Minister of the Police, known under 
the name of General Savary, sent his gcnsdarmes to the house 
of the bookseller, with orders to tear tbe whole edition in 
pieces, and to place sentinels at the different entrances to the 
warehouses, for fear a single copy of this dangerous writing 
should escape, A commissary of police was charged with the 
superintendence of this expedition, in which General Savary 
easily obtained the victory; and the poor commissary, it is 
said, died of the fatigue he underwent in too minutely assur- 
ing himself of the destruction of so great a number of volumes, 
or rather in seeing them transformed into paper perfectly white 
upon which no trace of human reason remained ; the price of 
the paper, valued at twenty louis by the police, was the only 
indemnification which the bookseller obtained from the min- 

At the same time that the destruction of my work was gomg 
on at Paris, I received in the country an order to deliver up 
tho copy fix)m which it had been printed, and to quit France 
in four-and-twen^ hours. The conscripts are almost the only 
penoDs I know for whom four-and-twenty hours are considmd 

sditob's psxfjlgb. 9 

mmuB. In this era, so unpootical for aU Europei Gkrmany 
torn in pieces by a Thirty Years^ War, and its oonsequenoes, 
is proH^minontly prosaic ; its few Singers are feeble echoes of 
foreign models little better than themselves. No ShakqMare, 
no Milton appears there ; such, indeed, would have appeared 
earlier if at all, in the current of Qerman history ; bot instead, 
they hare only at best Opitzes, Flommings, Logans, as wo had 
our Queen Anne Wits ; or, in their Lohenstdnes^ Giyphs^ 
Hoffmaimswaldans, though in inrerse order, an unintentional 
parody of our Drydens and Lees. 

''Nevertheless from every moral death there is a new birth ; 
in this wondrous course of his, man may indeed linger, bat 
cannot retrograde or stand s^. Li the middle of last cen- 
tury, from among the Parisian Erotics, rickety Sentimentalismy 
Court aperies, and hollow Dulness, striving in all hopdesi 
courses, we behold the giant spirit of Germany awaken as front 
long slumber ; shake away these worthless fetters, and, by its 
Lesdngs and Klqpstocks, announce, in true German dialect, 
that the Germans also are men. Singular enough in its cir* 
oumstanoes was this resusdtation ; the work as of a ' spirit 
on the waters,' — a movement agitating the great popular 
mass ; for it was favored by no court or king : aU soverdgn* 
ties, even the pettiest, had abandoned their native Literature, 
their native language, as if to irredaimable barbarism. The 
greatest King produced in Germany dnce Barbarossa's time^- 
Frederick the Second, looked coldly on the native endeavor, 
and saw no hope but in aid from France. However^ the na- 
tive endeavor prospered without aid : Lessing's announcement 
did not die away with him, but took clearer utterance, and 
more inspired modulation from his followers ; in whose works 
it now speaks, not to Germany alone, but to the whole worid 
The results of this last Period of German Literature an of 
deep dgnificance, the depth of which is perhaps but now bt 



eomi&g Tisible, Here, too, it may be, an in otlier cases, tha 'f 
Wm* eftt* ^i* hH Int takn to(m aad Aqw ta 0«mi7 ; 
dMt Aa^t ftva NcsMIm to AfloMtiMi. frca SMtmotlM to 
PiiiulMnllni, fprvfefA ■& tUnfan fa mtj wnStj m 
■ov fnrmi, fa pMfavi drMdy fa «eaM Ohm. Ib tbt 
Bobkr Utentnn of tha G«nMM^ Mj HMb Bi tk» ndtaMofa 
or ft anr qpUtMl «n, wUdi it It fa Aim Md fornncMiHqt 
g— ftflni to woifc oat ud imBm. The aacfaat OMtln 
Ii^faatka, It wmU an, ii atiO pg^bfa fa thns ■(« ; at ft 
ttai wkn SkaptidBa, HfoBtif, SMHlitr, kad irUhmd lib 
Mft ft a^ daav^ and ow gqwt ptoq^ WM bftl tha/«te 
awrng^aadw oarBjiffM BoJdittirbrtftdaa t fcooMg or 

Honb faftMUi« •tnaait towaidiiAkh tlw batter qfatti of 
•UsatkM am bartaniift Ifaot to difak, jet wMftDj and 
bopeMj to ezamlne. If tbe oUar Xitcnrjr HIitotj of 0«N 
nanjr hai the common uttracUoni, which in a gnater or leM 
degrae beloug to tha ncceatiTe epocha of other nch Hlitorlaa, 
ita newer LUeratare, and the hiatorical delineation of thli, baa 
•ft interert tnch aa belong! to no other," 

Carljrla acknowledgea that thU boc^ of Madame do Bta«l 
hai done awaj wtth the pr^fudicea agahift tbe Germaoi. Wa 
■end it fixth Ina new inm, with carefnl and copfami annotft- 
tatioi^ and hope it naf prove • tme guide to thote who an 
weUns btfoimation fa ngaid to » great people. 

O. W. Whbl 






• ■» 


Tbb mmibor and extent of forests indicate a drifialion yel 
recent : the jnci^ soil of the^yatfi is almost onfornished of 
iU trees, and the son darts its perpendicular rajs on the earth 
which has been laid bare by man. Genna ny slill affords some 
traces of uninhabited nature. From the Alps to the sesi be- 
tween the Bhine and the I>anubey you behold a land eoTered 
with oaks and firs, intersected by rivers of an imposing beauty, 
and by mountains of a most picturesque aspect ; but Tast 
heaths and sands, roads often n^lected, a serere dimate,. at 
first fill the mind with gloom ; nor is it till after some tims 
that it discovers what may attach us to such a country* 

The south of Germany is highly cultivated ; yet in the most 
deUghQU~distiricts of this country {biore ia always something of 
sciiionsgess, which calis the imaginattoa otlh^to tbouj^ll^ 
labor than of pleasure, rather to the. viitnea of iSm inbaUtaata- 
than to the charms of nature* 

The ruins of castlos' which are seen^ on the heij^ta of <h» 
mountains, houses built of mud, narrow windows, the snows 
which during winter eovei the plaina aa fiur aa the eye esoa 
*^ach,make a painfal impressioaon tha mind. A&iadsaadbap^ 



bic silenco in nature and in the people, at first opprcttsea tbe 
heart It Gcems as if timo mored roore_fl{ml]r ttero than elBfe 
__:v]u^, Bfl if TCgctatlon' moHo not a more rapid process in the 
earth than ideas in the hcadfl of men, aud as if tho regular 
fnTTowH of the Ial>orer were there traced npoo a dall BoiL 

NcTertlielcss, when we have orercomc these first uireflcct> 
log Bensations, tlio conntrf and its inhabitaots offer to the 
obsCTTotion aomething at once int«rcsting and poetical ; wb 
feci that gentle boqIh and tender imaginations have embelliab- 
ed these fields. The bjgh-rouds are planted with fruit-treca 
for the refresbnieDt of the traTellcr, The landscapes which 
SDrroand tho Rhine ar« everywhere magnificent ; this livor 
may be called tbe tntelary genius of Germany ; his wavea'ara 
pure, rapid, and majestic, lilie the life of a hero of antiquity, 
Tbe Danube is divided into many branches ; tho streams of 
tho Elbe and Spree are disturbed too easily by tho tflmpost; 
tho Riiine alone is unchangeable. The countries through 
vhich it flows •ppear at once of a character so gravo and so 
diversified, so fruitful and so solitaiy, that one would be tempt- 
ed to believe that they owe their cultivation to the genius of 
the river, and that man is as nothing to them. Its tide, as it' 
flows along, relates the high deeds of the days of old, and tba 
sliade of Aiminins seems still to wander on its precipitous banks. 

The monmnente of Gothic antiquity only are remarkable in , 
Cknnany ; these monoments. recall tiie ages of chivalry ; in 
almost every town a public museum preserves the relics of 
those days. One would say, that the inhabitants of the North, 
conqneron of ths world, wbea they qnitted Germany, left be- 
hind memorials of themselves onder diiferent forms, and that 
the whole land resembles the residence of some great peoido 
long since left vacant by its possosors. In most of the aiae- 
aals of Oermaa towBS^ wa meet with fignrea of knights in 
pamted wood, clad In their armor ; the helmet, the buckler, 
tbe cnisses, tbe wpan, — all is according to ancient custom ; 
and we walk among these standing dead, whooe nplifted arms 
■eem mAj to strike their advcnariei^ who also h<dd thdr 
hneai ia teak TUi mottonkai image of ootioii^ fonuriy ao 


lively, caoMs a painful imprcasion. It is thus tliat, long after 
earthqnakesy the bodies of men have been discovered still fixed 
in the same attitndes, in the action of the same thoughts thai 
occupied them at the instant when they were swallowed ap. 

Modem architecture in Germany offers nothing to our con- 
templation worthy of being recorded ; but the towns are in 
general well built, and are embellished by the proprietors with 
a sort of good-natured care. In many towns, the houses aro 
painted on the outside with various colon ; one sees upon them 
the figures of saints, and ornaments of every description, whioh^ 
though assuredly not the most correct in taste, yet cause a 
chcerfiil variety, and seem to indicate a benevolent desire to 
please both their fellow-countrymen and strangers. The dai- 
aling splendor of a palace gratifies the self-love of its possess- 
ors ; but the well-designed and carefully-finished decorationsi 
which set off these little dwellings, have something in them 
kind and hospitable. 

The gardens are almost as beautiful in some parts of Ger- 
many as in England : the luxury of gardens always implies a 
love of the country. In England, simple mansions are often 
built in the middle of the most magnificent parks ; the proprich 
tor neglects his dwelling to attend to the ornaments of natareJ 
This magnificence and simplicity united do not, it is true, exist 
in the same degree in Germany ; yet, in spite of the want of 
wealth and the pride of feudal dignity, there is everywhere to 
be remarked a certain love of the beautiful, which, sooner or 
later, must be followed by taste and elegance, of which it ia 
the only real source. Often, in the midst of tiie superb gar- 
dens of the German princes, are placed ^£olian haips dose by 
grottoes encirdod with fiowers, that the wind may waft the 
sound and the perfume together. The imagin^ii® oCihe-- 
northern people thus endeavors to create for itseUla^sort of 
Italy ; and, during the brilliant days of a short-lived sumDni^ 
it sometimes attains the deception it seeks.' 

> We win here add, from the Westminster Seview (Jsly, 1S6S, p. Tt) 
■^ asnmmAryofW.H.Biehl'BsdmixsUeviiworilis-'^-^ * •^' 





On.r a few general features are applicable to the whole 
German nation ; for the divenitiea of this oonntiy are anchy 
that it ia diflScnlt to bring together nnder one point of yiew^ 
goremmentsi climatoa, and eren peoples so different. 

lelatiaiiB of Um Oemuui people. Herr BiehTe three booke,^Xand end 
People (Lamd umd £tuU\ Town Sodetj (Bufftrluki Oua$d^t)^ and 
The Famil/ (Di$ IkmUU)^ which ere the three parts of one work on the 
Jfatnrel Histofj of the Oennanio reoe {J/ahtr^m^iekit d4ilbliet\ ere in- 
oompeimble models of thehr kind, st once interesting ss litorataro, rich in 
relisble fscts, end sober in theory. 

^ The DstnrU diTisions of Oennany, founded on its physical ^eogropby, 
are threefold ; nsmely, the low plains, the middle mountain rc^on, and 
the hi^h moontain rc^on,or Lower, Middle, and Upper Germany ; and on 
this primary natural division sll the other broad otbnofpraphical distino- 
tions of Gennsny will be found to rest. The plains of North or Lower 
Germany include all the seaboard the nation possesses ; and this, together 
with the fact that they are traversed to the depth of six hundred miles by 
navi^ble rivers, makes them the natural scat of a trading race. Quito 
different is the geograpliical character of &IldfUo Germany. While the 
northern plains are marked off into great divisions by such rivers as the 
Xfowcr Bhine, the Wcser, and the Oder, running almost in parallel lines, 
this central region is cut up like a mosaic by the capricious lines of valleys 
«nd rivers. Ilcre is the region in which you find those famous roofs from 
•which the rain-water runs towarda two different seas, and tlie mDuntain- 
tope from which yon may look into eight or ton German States. The 
•bnndanco of water-power, and the prosonoe of extcnslvocool minon, allow 
of a very diversified indastrial development In Middle Germany. In Upper 
Oerroany, or the high mountain region, wo find the same symmetry in the 
linee of the riven as in tlie north ; aloKMit all tlio groat Alpine strooms flow 
parallel with the Danabo. But the majority of those rivers are neither 
navigable nor available for Industrial objects, and Instead of serving for 
eommunication, they shut off one great tract fhmi another. The slow de- 
Telopment, the simple peasant life of many districts, is here determined 
by Uie moontain and the river. In the tontheast, however, indostnal 
•etlvity epteads throogh Boheral* towards Anstria, and ibrma a tort of 
kaknee te the ladostrial distrioU of the Lower Bhine. Of ooune, the 

iCAinixBs or thx axsjuob. 85 

I than trndentanding that characterises the Garmaac JTwa 
I Paul Bkhter, one of their most distingnished writenv hai aid 
1 Hut tie empin of tie teat Mongid to tie Eii^tk, iiai rf Ot 
iUmd to tie FrtneA, and tiat ef tie air to tie GtnHami! ia&iet, 
I we diacoTsr in Germany the neceadt; of a eentr* and bovnda 
I to this eminent focnlty of .tluHight, which risH and loaes itaelf 
' in ncnnm, which penetrat«fl and Tanishei is obacori^, which 
perishea bj its unpartialitj, oonfouidB itself faj the forea of 
analTus, and itands in need of certain &iilbi to otrcnnucrib* 

In leading France, it Is difficult to grow accnatomed to the 
alowueu and inertneu of the German people; they nerar 
haatou to any object; they find obetacloa to ^; yoohear "tf 
w impoenW repeated a hundred timet in Germany for onea 
in France. Wlion action is necessary, the Germana know not 
how to Btmggle with difEcaltics, and their respect for power 
is more owing to the rcacmblanco between powoi and destiny 
than to any interested motive. Hie lower classes are suffi- 
ciently coarse in their fomts of proceeding ; above all, when 
any shock is ititonded to their f&Torite habiU; they wonld 
natnrally feel much more than tho nobles that holy antipathy 
for foreign manners and languages, which in all conntries seema 
to strengthen the national bond of union. The offer of money 
does not alto' th^ir plan of condnct ; fear does not torn them 
aude &om it ; they are, in short, very capable of that fixed- 
ness in all things, which is an excellent pledge for monJi^ ; 
for he who is continually actoatcd by fear, and still mora by 
hope, passes easily from one opinion to another, wheneTer Jtia- 
interest requires it 

Aa we rise a little above the lower classy we easily percdrs 
that internal vivacity, that poetry of the soul, which ehano- 
terixea the Germans. Ibe inhabitants of town and country, 
tlie soldiers and laboien, are all acquainted with mnnc It 
has happened to me to enter small cottages, blackened by 
the smoke of tobaccoy and immediately to hear not only 
the mistress bnt the master of the honsa improvising on 
thft haipaduRdf aa tha Italiaoa ismcovjaa in vftfie. aitum^ 

89 MAl>Alfg VK ffTAEL's OEBKAnT, 

vnrjwhen, m nuricet-dajm, thej havo pUfen on wind initrn' 
menti pUcod in tlw balcony of the town-homo, which oror- 
loois tho pablio aquaro ; tho poonant* of tho neighborhood aro 
thtu nude portalcon in Uio aoft oi^oymont of that Ant of arte. 
Tho Rcholan walk through tho atroota, on Bandfcj, tinging 
pMlnu in chorns. Tho^ any tliat Luthor ofton toik k port in 
ibcao chomsca in culy lifo. I woa at Eisenach, a littlo town 
in Saxony, ono wintor day, when it waa ao cotd that tho voty 
■tKcta wcro blocked np with snow, I aaw a long procoatiion 
. of yonng people in black cloaka, walking through tho town, 
•nd celebrating tho praiaca of God. They were the only per- 
sona ont of doors, for tho sercri^ of tho froat had drivon all 
tho rcat of (ho worid to their fircudca ; and thcae voicca, almost 
equally harmoniona with thoao of the Soath, hoard amid all 
thia rigor of tho acoaon, cxdtcd ao much tho livelier emotion. 
The inhabitants of the town dared not in tho intcnso cold to 
open their windows; but wo could jwrccivo behind tl'e glnwtcs 
oonntcnaDccs, sad or serene, young or old, all receiving with 
joy the religious conaolationa which this BWe<t'. melody in- 

Tho poor Bohcmiana, aa they wander, followed by their 
wirca and children, carry on their backa a bad liarp, mnde of 
common wood, from which they draw hanoonious music. 
They play upon it while they rest at the foot of a tree on the 
high road, or near the post-house«, trying to awaken the atten- 
tion of traTelleia to the ambulatory concert of their little wan- 
dering lamily. In Austria the flocks are kept by shepbcrda, 
wbo play charming aire on instnimcnts at once simple and 
aonoroaa> These airs agree perfectly well with the soft and 
penuve impression produced by the aspect of the country. 

InsUnmental music is as generally cultivated throughout 
Germany as vocal music in Italy. Nature has done more in 
thM respect, as in bo many others, for Italy, than for Gcnoany ; 
for instrumental mnaic labor is necessary, while a southern sky 
ia enoogh to create a beautiful voice ; nevertholesa the men of 
th« working claasea would never be able to afford to music the 
tinM which ia neocaaary for learning i^ if Uiey were not en-' 

|£A2f2nCR8 OF THB OSBIOHS. 88 

gut tout k numde a. Tho Gorman writoit w<m1d ytl moM 
willin|;rly imitato foroignon than thoir own oountrymen* 

In liioraturo, as in politics^ tlio Qormans liaro too mueh to- 
spoct for foroignors, and not enough, of national prqudiooi. Li 
individuals it is a virtao, this doniaJ of sol( and this ostoem of 
othors ; but Uio patriotism of nations ought to bo solfisL^ The 
prido of tho English sorvos powerfully thoir politioal onstonoa ; 
tlio good opinion which tho French entertain of thomsolroa ham 
alwajrs contributed greatly to Uieir aseondanoo oror Europe; 
the noble prido of tlio Spaniards formerly rendered thom sove- 
reigns of ono entire portion of tho world. Tho Germana aie 
Saxons, Prussians, Bavarians, Austrians ; but tho Germanic dhar- 
actor, on which tho strengtli of all should bo foundodi is like 
the land itself parooUod out among so many difforont masteii» 

> ** With tbo purcMtt Idontlt/ of origin, tho Qormoiui hsvo iHown always 
tbo wcakost sontimunt of uatlonallty. Doseondod trom the tome anoofttorSi 
sponking m common languogo, unconqnorod by a foreign onomy, and onoa 
tbo subjocta of a gonoral govommont, thoy aro the oiJj people in Eaiepa 
who liAvo poMivoly allowed tlieir notional unity to bo broken dowUf sod 
aubmiitod, like cottlo, to bo parcelled nnd roparooUed into ilooka, aa anltad 
the convonlonoo of their ahepherds. Tho aome anpatriotlojQNUhy ii ba- 
trayed in ihelr literary oa in tlioir politioal exiatonoo. In o&er oonntriei^ 
taato la periiopa too oxolnalvoly national ; in Qonnany it ia oortaUily too 
ooamopolltc. Toutonlo odmlrotlon aeema, indeed, to bo eaaentially eentitf- 
ngai ; and literary partlalltloa have in tho Empire inclined alwaja ia ikvor 
of tho foreign. Tlio Germana wore long fhmlliar with the^literalura of 
0¥ery other nation, before thoy thought of cultivating, or rather eraating, a 
literature of their own ; and when thla was at laat attempted, la^ vAv 
ivlymv waa atlU the principle tliat goromed in tho experiment. It was 
eaaayed, by a proocM of foreign InAudon, to elaborate the German tonfoo 
into a Tchlole of ploaalng communication ; nor wero thoy oontanted to vs- 
verao the operation, until tlio pn\Joct liad boon atultifled by Ita laaaa, and 
tho purcit and only oll-auffiolent of \he modem languagea degraded iolo a 
Babyloniali jargon, without a parallel in the whole hiatoiy of speeeli. ▲ 
counterpart to tlila overwooning admiration of tho atranga and dlatanti ia 
tho dlaorodltablo indifference manlfoated by the Gennana to tho nobtool 
monumenta of native genlua. To their eternal diagraoa, tho woiks of Mb- 
niu wore left to be collected by a Frenchman^ while tiia care donlad bj 
Ilia countrymen to tho groat roprcaentative of German nniTWMlityi waa 
lavlahcd, with an ecccntrio affection, on the not mora impnTtant^spsimlsp 
tlona of Giordano Bnmo, Spiaosai and Oodworth.^ (Sir Wul 
M0iMf<aiM| eto.| p. S01>--JBI. 

try where men of letters, jdJ yoong men studying at Ui? 
tmivendtieft, are better ocqu^icd witL the ancient lan^sgca 
and with Antiquity; jct there is none in which superannuated 
ciutom« more generally exist oven at the present day. The 
mcollectionB of Greece, the tasto for the fine aTl«, teem to have 
reached them through tho medium of correspondence; but 
Cindal institntiona, and the ancient customs of the Gcmian 
naUoD, are always held in honor among tbcm, even though, 
unhappily for tho inilitary power of the conntiy , thoy no longer 
potscaa the same strength. 

There is no nsscmblage more whimsical than that displayed 
in the military aspect of Germany : soldiers at every iitep, and 
all leading a sort of domestic life.' They arc as much alVaid 
of fatigno and of the inclemency of the air, aa if the whole 
nation were composed of merchants and men of letters; and 
yet all their institutions lend, and must necessarily tend, to 
in^nre the people with military habita. When the inhabitanta 
of the NoTtli brare the inconvoniencea of their climate, thcv 
harden themselves in a wondciful manner agunst all sorts ot' 
«nl ; the Ruaeian aoldier is a proof of thi& But where the 
climate ia only half rigoions, where it is still possible to gnard 
■gainst tlio aereri^ of tho heavens by domestic procantions, 
theae veiy precaatioaa lesdei them more alive to ^« ohysical 
■offeringa of war. 

Stoves, beer, and tho smolce of tobacco, snmund all the 
eommon people of Germany with a thick and hot atmosphere, 
from which they are never inclined to escape. This atmos- 
phere is injniiooB to actirity, which is of no less importance in 
war than eoorage itself; resolationa are slow, discooragement 
ia ea^, becaoae an existanca, void of pleasure in general, in- 
tpitm no great eoofidence in the giiU at fortune. The habit 

■ BtaU taDsIbi Hmjot a**peHHrt 7011U1, enlDr ttii poorMtuid r«- 
■atwt n(l«a af Ike 'WMterwtId, wiUakd m a ncnlt, MWeObarg la 
■iMaa. n* lird, havlDS navar In hi* lift *lept In a bad, whan h* had ta 
gH Ms aM far Iha Ont tbaa began to raylikaaoUU; tad ba daaartad 
twlM U ti m i b* MoU aet r«e«aalla Uaaalf t» slM^Uif lo a bad, and to 

OBASAxms or the OXRlCAm. 88 

of * pescesble and ToguUr mode of life uao bad aprapantaoo 
for the multiplied cbaacw of hazard, Uiat eren death, oomiiig 
in a regular yr&y, appears preferable to a life of adrsntore. 

The dema:'ation of claaacs, much more poaitiTe ia Oemutny 
than it nud to be in Franco, naturally prodncod the annihila- 
tion of military spirit among tho lowor orders; this demaica- 
tion haa in fact nothing offeniive in it ', for I repeat, a aott of 
natural goodness mixes itself with every thing in Genoauj, 
~«ren with aristocratical pride ; and the differenoes of rank ars 
ledncod to some court privilogas, to some assemblies which do 
not afford sufficient pleasDre to doserre outj : nothing ia ImI- 
ter, nuder whatever aspect contemplated, when sodetj, and 
ridicule, which is the offspring of society, is without inflnonoe. 
/ Mm cannot roaUy wound their very aoola, except by fidsehood 
or mockery : in a country of seriousness and truth, jostiee and 
happiness will always be mot with. But the barrier which 
' separated, in Germany, the nobles from the citizens, nocessaiily 
rendered the whole nation less warlike. 

Imagination, which is the ruling qnaU^ of the world of aita 
^olctton m "Germany ,"inBptT6SThli "fear of dango^^i^ ^is 
natural emotion is not combated by &6 ascendency of opinjoa; 
and tbe exaltation of honor. In Franco, even in its ancient 
state, tho taste for war was universal ; and the common people 
willingly risked life, as a means of agitating it and diminishing 
the sense of its weight. It is a question of importance to know 
whether the domestic affections, the habit of loSection, the very 
gentleness of soul, do not conduce to the fear of death ; bnt if 
the whole strength of a State consists in its military spirit, it ia 
of consequence to examine what are the causes that hav* 
weakened this spirit in the German nation. 

Three leading motives nsoally incite men to figh^— the pa- 
triotic lore of liberty, the enthusiasm of glory, and religioua 
fanaticism. ; There can be no great patriotism in an empin 
divided for so many ages, where Germans fooght against Qer- 
mans, almost always instigated by some foreign impulse ; tha 
kve of {^ory ia scarcely awake where there is no centre, no 
•ocie^. ^at ipedea ttf impartialiQr, the very excess ^ ju*> 

iiATiim jm STAXX 8 OEBUAIfT. 

tic«, which cb»r«et gP«Miio GcrmaPs, leadsrajhom mti5li_ 
"more tusccptible rf being inHaiSed with abstract MDtiments, 
than of the real intcicsta of lire ; tho gcncnl who loses a bat- 
tle, is mora Buro of indalgcnce tlian he wbo gains ono is of 
BppUoso; tbcro is not enough dillcrcnco between success and 
rcTcne, in tbo opinions of such b pooplc, to oxctte an; rcry 
Urcly ambition. ': 

ItcligioD, int^cnnan;, exists at tbo very bottom of the heart ; 
but it posseRsca tbcro a character of meditation and independ- 
ence, which breathes nothing of the energy nccewary to oxclu- 
■iro sentiments. l^uLaamiiindepeiHlcnco of opiuicnSijndivid- 
tulx, and Slfl^c^ to prcjiidicNHJejlio strfrTgth of tho Gcmifinio 
empire, is to bo foumt nlno in their religion : a great number 
of dtfeitm Meu dMd» Genuaj' botween them; and tlw 
Catholic religion itsol^ which, in its vciy nature, oxcrcius a 
nnilbnn and strict discipline, is noTcrtholcss interpreted by 
ereiy nian after hia own (iuhion, Tho polidcol and sociaK 
bond (J Uie people, a general government, a general worship, \ 
the aamo laws, the same interests, a classical literature, a ruling 
opinion, nothing (^ all this exists among the Germans ; each / 
indindnal State is the mOre independent, each individual scienc* f 
Um better cultivated ; bat the whole nation is so subdivided, / 
that one cannot tell to what part of the empire this very name^ 
of natioo onght to be granted. 

.^>a-l<aa ^f liberty i * not dq YBlffp«v| ■mnrig the Oomana^ 
they have not teamed, either by enjoyment or by pnv&D^ 
the raloe which may be attached to it. There are many ex- 
amples of federative govemmenta, which give to the public 
qniit as mnch force aa even a united administration, but these 
■re the associations of equal States and free citizens. The Oer- 
man eonfederaey was composed of strong and weak, citizen 
and wert, of rivals, and even of enemies ; they were old existing 
dements^ combined by drcnmstances and respected hj men. 

Hm nation is persereriHg and jnst: and its equity and loy- 
■lty'M]4lte 11 igilllU Ihjury from any institntion, however 
neieaa, Loois of Bavaria, when he to<^ the command of the 
mtmj, intnHted to Fredeiie the Fair, his rival, aad lib tiul 



of a peaceable and jogalar mode of life is bo bad a prepaiitkA 
for the multiplied chances of hazard, that even death, oonung 
in a regular way, appears preferable to a life of adventaie. 

The demar.^ation of classes, much more positife in Gemmny 
than it used to be in France, naturally produced the annihilft* 
tion of military spirit among the lower orders; this demaic*- 
lion has in fact nothing offensive in it; for I repeati a sort of 
natural goodness mixes itself with every thing in Gennaay^ 
even with aristocratical pride ; and the differences of rank ai% 
reduced to some court privileges, to some assemblies which do 
not afford sufficient pleasure to deserve envy : nothing is MS^ 
ter, under whatever aspect contemplated, when society, and 
ridicule, which is the offspring of society, is withont inflnenee, 
/ Men cannot rcaUy wound their very sods, except by &Isehood 
or mockery : in a country of seriousness and truth, justiee and 
happiness will always be met with. But the banner which 
separated, in Germany, the nobles from the citisens, necessarily 
rendered the whole nation less warlike. 

Imagination, which is the ruling quality of the world rfttta 
^GTlctters in GermBnyr1n8pir(^8 the ^iear^tllim^^jCi^ 
natural emotion is not combated by the ascenden cy of oi^n^ fc 
and Uie exaltation of honor. In France, even in its ancient 
state, the taste for war was universal ; and the conmion people 
willingly risked life, as a means of agitating it and diminishing 
the sense of its weight It is a question of importance to know 
whether the domestic affections, the habit of reflection, the very 
gentleness of soul, do not conduce to the fear of deadi ; bat if 
the whole strength of a State consists in its military spirit^ it ia 
of consequence to examine what are the causes that have 
weakened this spirit in the German nation. 

Three leading motives usually incite men to fight,— -the pai^* 
triotic love of liberty, the enthusiasm of glory, and religiooa 
fanaticism. There can be no great patriotism in an empiva 
divided for so many ages, where Germans fought against Ger» 
mans, almost always instigated by some foreign impulse : the 
love of glory is scarcely awake where there is no centroi no 
society. That species of impartiality, the very excess oC jua* 

49 mtHMtt m btaxl's obbiukt. 

>nd the leaa occukm is given them in thia lespect to decids 
for thenuelvm, tiio better thej are utMed. 

fiGtical institntioiu can alone fonn the chatacter of a na- 
tion; the natore <rf tbe govcnunent of Gennanjr was slmcat in 
oppoailion to the philosophical illumination of the Qermana. 
IVom thence it fallows, that they join the greatcat boldneai ol , 
thought to the moet obedient charact§ r. TSe pro-eminence oT" 
'The military Statea, and tlie distinctiona of nnb, have accustom- 
ed them to the most exact snbmiseion in the rela^ons of socibI 
Ufs. Obedience, with them, ia r^folarity, not serriii^ ; they 
an aa acnpnlons in the execution of the orden they recei're. 
as if ereiy order became a dn^. 

Hie uilightcned men of Germany dispute rehemently 
among themselves the dominion of epecnlations, and will suffer 
no shackles in this department ; but they give up, withont dif- 
ficulty, al l that is real Jn life to the powcrinl of the earth . 
"This feiin^, wbich tbey so mncb despise, finds purchasers, 
however, who in the end avail themselves of tbcir acquisition 
to carry tronblc and constraint into the empire of tbo imagina- 
tion itself,"^ The understanding and tbo character of the Ger- 
mans appear to have no communication together : the ono 
CAQQot suffer any limita, the other is subject to every yoke; 
tho one is very cntcrprisiog, the other very timid; in short, 
the illumination of the one seldom gives strength to the other, 
and this is easily explained. The extension of knowledge in 
modpm times only serves to weaken the character, when it is 
not strengthened by the habit of business and the exercise of ' 
the will. To see all, and comprehend all, is a great cause of 
uncertainty; and the energy of action develops itself only in 
these free and powerful countries where patriotic sentiments 
are to the soul like blood to the veins, and grow cold only 
with the extinction of life itself.' 

< A puug* >Dppi««wd bj tb« MDMn. 

• 1 lina no ccad at wjIdk tbst U is Eogknd whldi I irisbed to point 
»nt bj thtte word* ; bat whtu proper names sre noC prononncatl, tho md- 
•ott. In tw»ni, who are m«D ot kaowledgc, take > pleuurs in not com- 
pnbndlDf. It li aot tbo isms with tho poUss ; th* polio* has a sort ot 


Natciu ind sodet^ give to Tomen i biilut of s , 
aod I think it can luudljr be denied Uut, in oar iKja,,SufJr* 
pnjrnllj JIflrfliiw Trf mTnL ertoam t^ *** *^* tit ^^*^ 
epo^~$^^nlfiikBeiiJB tlie p rgTMling . evil, the men, to T£om~ 
w positJTe intoresta are Htltod, mnat neceawrilf liave Itm 
genoioflity, less seniibility, tlian the wotavu. Tbeua list an 
attached to life only hj the tics of the heart; and eren when 
they lose themselves, it is hj sentiment that thoy an led away : 
their ecIGBhncsB it extended to a donblo object, while that of 
man has himself only for its end. Ilomage is rendered to 
them according to die affections which they inspire ; but j^oae 
which they bestow are iiliiiniiji sTwajB siiijjfii i s ^e most 
bcaatifal of nrtuGs, B<!1^devS'tion, is their enj^Stont and their 
destiny ; no happiness can exist for them but hj the rejection 
of another's gloiy and prosperity ; in short, to live independ- 
ently of aol^ whothorby ideas or by scntimonts, or, abore all, 
by virtnce, gives to the sonl an habitnal fooling of eleratJon. 

In those conntries where men are called npon by political 
institntiona to the exorcise of oil the military and dvil rirtnea 
which are inspired bf jat optiam , they recover the snpeiiori^ 
which belongs to them; they reassnme with dignj^ their 
righto , as masters of thjoifidd. ; but when they are condemned, 
in wBilover measure, to Idleness or to slavery, they fall *o 
much the lower as they onght to rise more high. The destiny 
of women always remains the same ; it is their sonl alone 
which creates it; political oiicnmstancee have no i 

uuUiust that U rMll]' exbundlnuy, in pr^jodtoa of ill Ubml IdeM, vndw 
wlutswiiuiD tharpnaanttlicmMlTM; sDilbaoBi ont, vithllu lagadQ' - 
ofagocd hmnd, ill tbst might Bwiken In the minds of i>>«Fi«Mhth«r 
HKicnt leva fiir llgbt and Ubsrtr- 


>ti K*njnig DE 6TASL*e GESlUirT. 1 

nd the lew occa^on is given them in this respect to decids i 

(at tbeiaaelvCB, the better they are satiaSed. 1 

Mitical institotions con »lotie fonn the character of a na- 1 

tioD ; the nature of the gDvcmment of Germany wsa aliot^t is I 
oppoaition to the philosophical illamination of the Qcrmana, 

-^o» JmcMw hi ttk dipMtiwrtt; trt ttiyifr* i^ wiftout dig- 
^Beolty, Jl flu* fa iwJ ia Hfa W ■«■ -pmtmM rf tiw «MJl ». 
'^^"Tlua Inli^, vlueb tbej to mncli deepiae, finds pnrduMrs, 
^-jowerer, who in th« end Avail tbemtelTca of their acqiiintiati 
"^^ carry tronble and eoutniiit into the empre of the inisgin»- 
~^^^on itBeI£,"* Hie nnderatanding and the character at the Ger- 
^^:xiaq> sppear to hare no commnnkatioii togetber: the on« 
^^aauot inSer any limita, the other Is Ribiect to erery yoke; 
'^^e one wV^ entcrpriting, the other very timid; ia short, 
^^Jie illiiiiiinaaon of the one teldom givea strength to the other, 
^^Dd this M ea^y explained. Hie ezteiiaion of knovledgo ia 
^feSDodprn timea only seircs to weaken the character, whea it b 
~^Kaot strengthened by the bahit of bonneM and the exendae of 
"Millie will. To see dll, and oomprahead all, is a great canse of 
"^ancertainty; and the energy of action develops itself only in 
^k})oae free and powerful countries where patriotae sentiiiMnta 
~ s to Hm sotd lika blood to the reina, ud grow etdd only 
li the nrtinctioiiof lift itselC* 

' A pMi^* sapftsMtd bf th* OMksan. 

• IhsnnoBMd gf mtIbb Art it b Zoi^ud wUcb I wUMd to paint 
^MtbrtbiMVordi; latvhsnpmwnaDMWanotpntionntsd, tba ••&- 
^eta, B s«Mcal, wm an Bsa tt uowMp, take a plaaanra la aot m»> 
^iifcwiWH KIsMtttsMMvllhtharellsstttipalleakMaBartar 

' -' 

1HB WOMOr. 48 



Naturi and society give to women a hM% of endimBoe ; 
and I think it can hudly be denied tliat» in our dayi^^^lfijLa^ 
4gfiBeially wjgfHieiF of mniiLo8tc om than Ae jdboiu ^^^^ 
epo^*iBfien^9clfiihiie8a.ia the prevail^ evDy the men^ to mom^ 
all positive interests are Ktstcdy mnst necessarily hare Iom 
generosity, less sensibility, than the women. These last are 
attached to life only by the tics of the heart; and eren when 
they lose themselves, it is by sentiment that they are led away : 
their selfishness is extended to a donblo object^ while that of 
man has himself only for its end. Homage is rendered to 
them according to the affections which they inspire ; bot j|ioae 
which they bestow are almost ^alwaya saqgficgL ffie most 
beantifnl of virtocs,^ s61^deTSSon, is their enj^3ent and their 
destiny ; no happiness can exist for them bnt by the fefleetioil 
of another's glory and prosperity ; in short, to live independ- 
ently of sel^ whether by ideas or by sentiments, or, above all, 
by virtues, gives to the soul an habitual feeling of elevation. 

In those countries where men are called npon by poliftieal 
institutions to the exercise of all the military and dvil virtnea 
which are inspired by juitQotima, they recover the siq>eiioiity 
which belongs to them; they reassume with dgut^ their 
n^ts^asjoasten^^k^^ 1)ut^hen theyare condemned, 
in wHatcver measure, to idleness or to slaveiy, they fidl ao 
much the lower as they ought to rise more high. The destiiiy 
of women always remains the same ; it is their sool alone 
which creates it; political circumstances have no. infhmnee 

instinct that Ib roallj eztnordinsiy, in pr^odloe of an libml IdtM, 
whstevor form thej prcMnt them8«lve8 ; and tnoet <mt, with tin 
of a gocd hound, an that might awaken in the minda of the 
sooifnt lovs tat light and libcrtj. 




UP TO wiLDmoi oy tbx i 



Cbivalxt is to modern, what the heroic age was to ancioat 

' — r Ifl it r" "-—Hn rffflllrn*"?' /'*" "■"""■ i'' finmir 

in iHi^iiT At in O* gnat «pod» of iattaij, nn Bsn 

' Md MOM Mrt </ • 

fOoBtpU of MtioB. Hiom wlMn Ihmf eilled benMi, in tht 
SMifc &tait agM, had ftn their oljeet todriHw tbewidi} 

the oonfoaed traditions, which represent them to ns as sab- 

_V> the first dapg era which menaced society aT ila bfi^ffijapd 
Irom wbich ii was preserved by the snpports of lU yet fiow 
organisation. Then came the enthnuaam of patriotism, and 
inspired all that was great and brilliant in the actions of Greece 
sDd Rcone : this entimsiasm became weaker when there was 
no longer a coontiy tojove ; and, a few centnriea later, chiv- 
alry sacceedcd to it. j^ivalry consisted in the defence of ths 
ircak, in the lo^al^ of valor, in the contempt of deceit, in that 
Christian chanty which endeavored to introdnce hnmani^ 
•Ten in war ; in short, in all those sentimentB which subeti- 
tnted the reverence of honor for the ferodons spirit of btiiu|^ 
It is among the northem natioiia that chivalry had its birtli, 

• Th« firi^ of chivslij hsi «Aau Ixsn baosd to a enMom of the 0^ 
■SIM, 4«Mrib*d by Tadtu : 

."^no Oannsni (niuMt no bnsIoM*, pvbUo or private, wltbont being 
■nMd ; but It la not eattonaij tor tnj penon to usomo srmi UB the 
Bttt* bM ^ipioTad hii sbtllty to hm tham. Than, In Ox* mldrt of tbs 
aasamblj, oUlMr om of the obkO, or tti* btber, or a rtUUnn, eqiilps th* 
TMthwUlk s lUold ud javslin. Th«M m« to tham tba msnljr gown ; this 
is tkslntlwiwreaBfatmdonToathf bifbn this thof an oonslduad as 
fmabsMiheH;sftww»rts,of>hiBMe. Tbs dlfnUf of AUftsin U 

-J- - - -, ^Jl 

TUB woMior. 45 

Ono may fairly laugh at the ridiculout tin of aome Gomum 
womoDi who ATO continually oxalting thomaolTOi CTon to *a 
pitch of afibotation, and whojasoflfio to thoir protty aoftnoiMa 
of cxproflsioni ^ ♦^''^^^ ^« nmrlf/y^ fl pd ■trikiB| y in mind and 
character; thoy aro not open, oven though tlioy are not fidao; 
thoy only boo and judgo of nothing corroctlyi and roal arenti 

^^jjbA^I plia^»ii>mftgAriii Knf/MY^ ^hiAr lypa. Byon whoa 

loy take it into thoir heads to be light and oaprioionii fhey 
ttill retain a tincture of that ienHme ntality which ia heldin lo 
hi gh hon or in tlieir conn tan^ A OcxSan woman laid one day, 
with a melancholy expression, ** I know not whorofore, hot 
those who are absent pass away from my souL** A French 
woman would have rendered this idea with more gayetyy bat 
it would have been ftmdamentally tlie same. 

Notwithstanding those affectations, which fbrm only the 
exception, there are among the women of Germany numbora 
whose sentiments are true and manners siinp le^ Their carofiil 
Oducation,and^th'6' purity oTsbul whick is natural to them, 
render tlio dominion which they exercise gentle and abiding; 
ihcy inspire you from day to day with a stronger interest for 
all tliat is great and generous, with more of confidenoo in all ' 
noble hopes, and thoy know how to repel that desolating irony 
which breathes a dcath-diill OTor all the enjoymenta of the 
' heart Nevertheless, we seldom find among tiiem that quick- 
ness of apprehension, which animates conversationi and seta 
every idea in motion ; this sort of pleasure ia scarcely to be 
met with anywhere out of the most lively and the mort witty 
societies of Paris. The chosen company of a French metropo- 
lis can alone confer this rare delight; elsewhere, we generally 
find only eloquence in public, or tranquil pleaspro in fiuniliar 
life. Conversation, as a « talent, exists in IVance alone; in all 
other countries it answers the purposes of politeness^ of aiga* 
ment, or of friendly intercourse. In France, it ia an art to 
which the imagination and the soul are no doabt very neoee* 
sary, but which possesses, besides these, certain seoieta|Wlieiie 
by the absence of both may bo supplied. 


luntMM nt artixL't (smuxr. 





CSBiFJkLBT is to modern, what the heroic age was to ancieai 

jgre ttt*^**^ At all the great epochs of history, men have 
embraced some sort of enthusiastic sentimenti as a oniyersal 
principle of action* Those whom they called heroes, in the 
most distant ages, had for their object to civilize the earth ; 
the confused traditions, which represent them to us as sab- 
jjiin^y th^ ^ftntfi>T^ rf t he forestSy bcar^ no do nbt an allaufgin 
to the first dangers which menaced society at fti birth, and 
nrom which it was preserved by the supports of its ycTncw 
organization. Then came the enthusiasm of patriotism, and 
inspired all that was great and brilliant in the actions of Greece 
and Rome : this enthusiasm became weaker when there was 
no longer a country toj^ve ; and, a few centuries later, chiv- 
alry succeeded to it. ^Chivalry consisted in the defence of the 
weak, in the loyalty of valor, in the contempt of deceit, in that 
Christian charity which endeavored to introduce humanity 
even in war ; in short, in all those sentiments which substi- 
tuted the reverence of honor for the ferocious spirit of arms. 
It is among the northern nations that chivalry had its birth ;^ 

^ The ori^ of ehivalry htm often been traoed to a coBtom of the Ger* 
mane, described bj Tacttnji : 

.*^Thb Oermans transact no bosineae, pnblio or private, without being 
armed; but it is not customary for anj person to assome arms tin the 
State has approved his ability to use them. Then, in the midst of the 
aaaembly, either one of the chiefs, or the father, or a relation, equips the 
youth with a shield and javeUn. These are to them the manly gown ; this 
is the flrtt honor oonfened on yonth : before this they are considered as 
pari of a boosehold; alUrwaida, of the State. The dignity of ohieftain is 

umuuoQi or trb bpxbzt or OBSfjJMtm 49 

i^nce the time of the R^ncy, had dehtiad the natonl diir* 
icter of Rrenchmeiu Feudality still retained among the Gei^ 
mana the maadms of chivalry: they foog^t dudb^ indeedy 
■oldomer than in Fhoice, because' the Gennuiie natkm ia nol 
80 lively as the French, and becanae aU xanka of people do 
not, as in Erance, participate in the sentimeni of braveiy; bvt 
public opinion was genenlly mnch more severe with rogaid to 
every thing connect with proUty* U a man had, fai any 
manner, been wanting to the laws of moralitji ten daeb a day 
would never have set him np again in any perMm'a esteem. 
Many men ct good company have been aeeii in France, who, 
when accosed of some blamable action, have answered, '' It 
may be bad enough ; bat nobody at least will dare to say so 
before my ttict/' Nothing can imply a more ntter depravation 
of morals ; for what would become of human society, if it was 
only necessary for men to kill each other, to acquire the right 
of doing one another, in other respects, all the mischief possi- 
ble ; to break their word, to lie, provided nobody dared to say, 
^You have lied;** in short, to separate loyalty from bravery, ^ 
and transform coursge into a mode of obtaining social im** / 
punity f 

Since the extinction of the spirit of chivalry in France; '^'^ 
since she possessed no longer a Godefroi, a Saint Louis, or a 
Bayard, to protect weakness, and hold themselves bound by a 
promise fA by the most indissoluble chain, I will venture to 
say, contrary to the received opinion, that France has perhapa . 
been Uiat country of the world in which women are the least 
happy at heart France was called the Paradise of women, on 
account of the great share of liberty which the sex enjoyed 
there ; but this very liberty arose from the facili^ with wUch • 
men detached themselves from them. The Taric, who shuta 
up his wife, proves at least by that very conduct how necessary 
she is to his happiness; the man of gallantry, a character of 
which the last century furnished us with so many examples^ 
selects women for the victims of his vanity; and thia vanity 
consists not only in sedncinfe but in afterwards abandoning 
them. Hemust|inMder to justi^itibeaUerto'dodo^ii 




to ft lAole nalioiiy itill it it eonfined so entirely to the 

of Hie aoferugn, that during the edmintttrations 

Bcgent and of Looit ZY, it woold have been difficolt, 

thenench to hatederiTod anything great from 

Hie quit of ehiralry, which itill emitted tome 

m the rngn of Looia XXV, was eztingoiahed with 

ioeeeededt aooording to a rery lirely and sensible 

f by the ^^irii qfFaiuiij^f iriiieh is entirely opposite 

Inrtead of protecting women, Fatoitj seoka to destroy 

instead of despising artifice^ she employs it against 

fceble beings whom dbe prides herself in deoeiring; and 

anbs titut e s the piofiuiation of lore in the pbce of its wor- 

coorsge itself which fimneriy senrod as the pledge of 
^■yty, became nothing better than a brilliant mode of evad- 
its chain; ibr it was no longer necessary to be true, bat 
to Idn in adnd the man who accuses yon of being other 
; and the empire of society in the great world made 
oet all the virtues of chivalry disappear. France then 
herself without any sort of enthusiastic impulse what- 
and as such impulse is necessary to prevent the corrup- 
and dissolution of nationsi it is doubtless this natural 
ity whicb, in the middle of the last century, turned every 
towards the love of liberty, 
i seems, then, that the philosophical progress of the human 
s should be divided into four different periods LJhe heroic 
ich gave birth to civilisati on ; p^tir^Qtiwn -nhwh con- 
futed tliA glOFf of aniiQuitv : chivalry, which was 




)m the 
ijf with the exception of a few or its courts, which 
inspired with the emulation of imitating France, had not 
by the fatuity, immorality, and incredulity, which. 

.^ X. ds OratflDs. Two of ths nsmo hsvt been dietingnished in letteis* 

>^^.^Lo^ and Charles-Joeeph. The letter ie here aUnded to. He 


«ince the time of the Regency, had debased the natural char- 
acter of Frenchmen. Fendalitj still retained among the Ger- 
mans the maxims of chivalry: they fonght duels, indeed, 
Rcldomer than in France, because' the Germanic nation is not 
so lively as the French, and because all ranks of people do 
not, as in France, participate in the sentiment of bravery ; bat 
public opinion was generally much more severe with regard to 
every thing connected with probity. If a man had, in any 
manner, been wanting to the laws of morality, ten duels a day 
would never have set him up again in any person's esteem. 
Many men of good company have been seen in France, who, 
when accused of some blamable action, have answered, " It 
may be bad enough ; but nobody at least will dare to say ao 
before my face." Nothmg can imply a more utter depravation 
of morals ; for what would become of human society, if it was 
only necessary for men to kill each other, to acquire the right 
of doing one another, in other respects, all the mischief posai- 
blc ; to break their word, to lie, provided nobody dared to saj, 
'*You have lied;** in short, to separate loyalty from bravery, ^ 
and transform courage into a mode of obtaining social im-* J 
punity f 

Since the extinction of the spirit of chivalry in France; ' Y 
since she possessed no longer a Godefroi, a Saint Louis, or a 
Bayard, to protect weakness, and hold themselves bound by a 
promise ^ by the most indissoluble chain, I will venture to 
say, contrary to the received opinion, that France has perhapa 
been that country of the world in which women are tiie leaat 
happy at heart France was called the Paradise of women, oa 
account of the great share of liberty which the sex enjoyed 
there ; but this very liberty arose from the facili^ with wUeh • 
men detached themselves from them. The Turk, who shuta 
up his wife, proves at least by that very conduct how neeessarj 
she is to his happiness; the man of gallantry, a character oif 
which the last century furnished us with so many example^ 
selects women for the victims of his vani^; and thia vanitj 
consists not only in seducing, but in afterwards abandonfng 

theoL He must, in order to jnstiff it| be aUer to'deidlai^'IA 
- T a 


^?^«^ kB bnd ku, b«t that ha M Ions* ««■ alx^ ^er. 
*r m d fto il «db BH^ M »r «■ ^dmfrm,' Hid « friesd of 

*~'^«n»dsBannl; Md Oui wy frind ifpeued to kirn 
. . " '^m of dMpIlp«^«b•• ft liiwBrtMB death pmatad 
~* ^^Mtha wwiBqiMiaMWtoflhhkadihtodM^ Om 

^pDnlfj, if I BMj OH Uw BipwiMi, naSlj phrad 
^^j^^ iMt of tU p w to elioB of lbs l*w. '^leti their bo- 
ZjjjT^^^y nign «m orar, then m for tbom neither geno* 
^B^^^ W gntitodo — not ena pi^. Tb^ coQiiteifcited th« 
^?^^ of lo*« to main them bll into tha Mian, like the 
^r^^4il«^ which "■'♦'t— tha Toieea of ^lildrao to anti^ their 

^r*^^^^ AlV, ao Taanted for his chiTalroiu gallantrf, did he 

1^^ ^«kow himself the moat hardhearted (rf men in his conduct 

U^^*^ the rtitj woman hj whom be wu moat bclored ot all, 

^^^^SuadelaValliiTe) The detaila which are gitcn of that 

^j^***«tion in the Mimoiru it ifadam* are frightful. Ue 

<Vk^^^^ ^th grief the unfortunate heart which breathed only 

c^^^im, and twenty year* ti lean, at the foot (rf the croea, 

C4^^^ hardly cicatrise the wounds which the cmel disdain of 

^L«^ ^Oonardi bad inflicted. Nothing is so barbaroos as ranity ; 

ft"^^^" «s aodety, icm-bM, bihion, sncccsa, all put this Tanity >in- 

^^C^r^*dy in play, there is no eonntiy where the happiness of 

te-^^ ^«n is in greater danger than that in which every thing 

^^^^J^iiiiila upon what is called opinion, and in which ererybody 

» of othen what it is good taste to feel. 

t mnst be conflMsed, that women bars ended by taking 

t in the immorali^ which destroyed their own true empiie ; 

7 have learned to lesson their anffsrings bj becoming worth- 

*. KevetthelcM, with some 6w exceptions, the nrtoe of 

A ahraya depends on the oondnot of men. The pra> 

d iit^ttMM cC vomaa ia tha ooMafoaoa ef tha (ear th«r 



entertain of being abandoned ; they nuih into shame from the 
fear of outrage. 

LoTe is a much more serions qoalitj in Qermany than in 
France. Fytry, t^^ ^"^ rr^, eren p hUowi Ay an d religioi^ 
haYe made, ttdg sentiment , an. ol\}flrJb ISjBJx^ffiZoTih oa^ which 
jsESfflTncJ^^ham Oermany was not mfesied, Uke^ 

Trance, with licentioos writings, which circulated among all 
classes of people, and effected the destmction rf sentiment 
among the high, and of morality among the low. It mnst bo 
allowed, nevertheless, that the Germans have more, 
tion th^ sensibility ; and their npngiitncss is the 
ioT^cir constancy. The French, in general, respect positive 
duties ; the GermAns think themselves less bound by duty than 
affection. What we have said respecting the facili^ of divorce 
affords a proof of this; love is, with them, more sacred than 
marriage. It is the effect of an honorable delicacyi no doubt^ 
that they are above all things faithful to promises which the 
law does not warrant; but those which are warranted bj 
law are nevertheless of greater importance to the interests of 

The spirit of chivalry still reigns among the Gcrmansi tfana 
^to speak, in a passive sense ; they are incapable of deceiti and 
their integrity discovers itself in all the intimate relations of 
life ; but that severe energy, which imposed so many saerificoa 
on men, so many virtues on women, and rendered the whole 
of life one holy exeitiso, governed by the same prevailing sen- 
timent, that diivalrous energy of the times of old, has.left in 
Germany only an impression long since p%ssed away. Heno^ 
forward nothing great will ever be accomplished theie^ eioapi 
by the liberal impulse which, throughout Buvope^ haa 
ceeded to chivaliy. 



It ii ft countij so calm, a country in irliich competence is so 
ea^y sccnred to all classes of its inliabilAuts, that thoy think 
bat little of intellectual enjoyments. They do moro for ih« 
aake of dnty than of fame ; tho rewards of public opinion lira 
so poor, and ita punislimcnts so stiglit, that, without tho mo- 
tive of conscience, there would be no incitement to vigorous 
action in any sense. 

Military exploits must bo the chief interest of tho inhabitanta 
ofa monarchy, which has rendered il^lf illuBtrious by contin- 
nal wars; and yet tho Austrian nation had so abandoned itself 
to tbc repose and the pleasures of life, that oven public events 
mode no great noiao till the moment arrived of their calling 
tbrth the sentiment of patriotism ; and even thia sentiment ii 
of A basquil nature in a country where there i» noUiing but 
liappinett. Many eicellcnt thingLiUB-la b$ foand in Anfltn%^ 
. bat few mciT rf'^^T «f ■Lwipurinr order ; for it is there of no 
great acr rice to be Tp ckoncd mojJ^SWFTSim'anot^^^ one u ~ 
not enried for it, bat fo^tten, which is yet more discourag- 
ing. AmbitioD pcTWrerca in the desire of acquiring power; 
grains flags of itaolf ; geniiu, in tho midst of society, is a pain, 
■n internal fisTor, which would require to be treated as real 
disease, if the lewarda of glory did sot lotleia the sufferings it 

In Austria, and all other parta of Germany, the lawyers 
plead in writing, nerer vtni vom. The preachers are followed 
because mca obserre the practical duties of religion ; but they 
donot attract by their eloquence Hie theatres are mucb neg- 
lected ; abore all, the tragic theatre. Adminiatration ia con- 
ducted with great wisdom and justice ; but there is so mocb 
metbod in all things, that the Influence of individuals is scarce- 
ly perceptible. Business i« conducted in a certain numerical 
order, which nothing can derange ; it is decided by invariablo 
rnloa, and transacted in profound silence; this silonco is not 
tbe effect of terror ; for what is there t« be feared in a country, 
wbon the Tirtnes of tbe sororolgn and the prinoiploi of eqnity 
(oroiB tH things t bnt the profound repose of Intellects, as of 
MBl^dapriTwhiimui ^oeoh of all Ita IntonsU. Noltlierby ' 



Letton might perhaps have been cnltivatod in the aonth of 
Germanj with as mach success as in the north, if the Boreroignt 
had orer properly interested themselves in the advancement of 
them ; nevertheless, it must be acknowledgedi that temperate 
climates are more favorable to society than to poetry. When 
the climate is neither inclement nor beantiftil| when . 
live with nothin g either to foar o r. 
the positive interests o7 oSslence become almost the only ocea« 
pation of the mind ; both the delights of the Sooth, and the 
rigors of the North, have stronger hold over the imagination. 
Whether we struggle against nature, or intoxicate oarselvea 
with her gifts, the power of the creation is in both eases oqnally 
strong, and awakens in us the sentiment of the fine arts, or the 
instinct of the soul's mysteries. 
X Southern Germany, temperate in every sense, maintains itself 
in a monotonous state of well-being, singularly prejudicial to 
the activity of affairs as well as of thought The most lively 
desire of the inhabitants of this peaceful and fertile country isi 
that they may continue to exist as tltey exist at present; and 
what can this only desire produce f It is not even suflieieni 
for the preservation of that with which they are satisfied. 



Tni literati of Northern Qormany have accused Austria of 
neglecting letters and sciences ; they have even greatly exag^ 
geratod the degree of restraint imposed there by the censure 
of the press. If Austria has produced no great men in the lit- 
erary career, it is to be attributed not so much to constraint ea 
to the want of emulation. 

> ThiiohaptorwAtwritUiinUieyMrlSOa. 

Ik b ft eooiit^ ID caliBy a eooiitty in iHiieh eompetance b 
mmkf mami to aU cIimm of iti iahaUtiiit^ that thqr think 
bnl Bttia cf jntel lectnal e nj oymc n to. They do mora for the 
jafco of dff *T *^iitn «^^^«»^t the lewaids of pnUio opinion are 
■o poor, and iti ptmidiments m> dight^ thati withoat the mo- 
tivo of eonteiencfl^ tbero would be no indtement to Tigwont 
aetion in any aenMi 

' IGfitaiyeiploitsnnistbe the chief interetl of the inhaUtants 
of* monarchy, which has lendeied itcdf illnitrioiit hj eratin- 
nal wan; and yet the Awtrian nation had so abendoned itMlf 
to the lepoae and the plestaies of life, that even pnUio erents 
made no great noise till the moment anJTed of their calling 
ivrtli the sentiment of patriotism; and oren this sentiment is 
of* tranqnfl natnre in a ooantrj where there is nothing bat 
hapinnesB. M any eicdlent t hingjjm^tft bg famd in Anstriai 
V^\fr^ mmT naJly ^ ^ «ipftWAr order; for it is there of no 
great scrrico tp bo jtSKslconcd jnoie'SMrllian another; one is 
not envied for it, bat foigottcn, which is yet more discourag- 
iag. Ambition perseveres in the desire of acquiring power ; 
genius flags of itself; gcniosy in the midst of society, is a paiui 
an internal fcrcr, which would require to be treated as real 
disease, if the rewards of gloiy did not soften the sufferings it 

In Austria, and all other parts of Germany, the lawyers 
plead in writing, never viva vcee. The preachers are followed 
because men observe the practical duties of religion ; but they 
do not attract by their eloquence. The theatres are much neg- 
lected; above all, the tragic theatre. Administration is con- 
ducted with great wisdom and justice ; but there is so much 
method in all things, that the influence of individuals is scarce- 
ly perceptible. Busmess is conducted in a certain numerical 
order, which nothing can derange ; it is decided by invariable 
mles, and transacted in profound silence ; this silence is not 
the effect of terror ; ferwhat is there to be feared in a country, 
where the virtoes of the sovereign and the principles of equity 
go>veni aU thingst but the profound repose of intellocts, as of 
aoiiI% deptivea hnman q^oech of all its intemts. Neither by 

▲UBIXIA. 56 

crime nor by gcninsi by intolorance nor by enthonmni by pa»- 

non nor by heroism, is existence eitlier distoibed or exalted. 

The Austrian Cabinet daring the last century was eonadeied 

as Tery adroit in politicsi — a quality which little agrees with 

the German character in general ; bnt men often mistake fer 

profound policy that which is only the altematiTe between 

yj j ambition and weakness. History almost alwaya attributea to 

\^ ( individuals, as to goyemments, more combinaticm of plana than 

^-«ally existed. 

Austria, concentrating within herself people so different from 
each other, as the Bohemians, Hungarians, drc, wanta that 
unity which is so essential to a monarchy : ncTerthdesSi the 
great moderation of her rulers has for a long time past pro- 
duced a general bond of union out of the attachment to one in- 
dividual. The emperor of Germany was at the same time 
sovereign over his own dominions and the constitutioual head 
of ilie empire. In this latter character he had to manage di^ 
fcrent interests and established laws, and derived from his im- 
perial magistracy a habit of justice and prudence, which ho 
transferred from them to the administration of hia hereditary 
States. Ihe nations of Bohemia and Hungary, the Tyrolcie 
and the Flemings, who formerly constituted the monarchyi 
have more natural vivacity than the genuine Austrians : these 
last employ themselves incessantly in the act of moderating in- 
stead of that of encouraging. An equitable govemmenti a ler» 
tile soil, a wise and wealthy nation, all contribated to teaek 
them, that for their well-being it was only necessary tOLmain- 
taUi their existing condition, and that they had no need what- 
ever for the extraordinary assistance of 8uperi<^r talenta. la 
peaceable times, indeed, they may be dispensed with; but 
what can we do without them in the grand stmgg^ of eat- 


I The spirit of Oatholicism, which was uppermoat at Yknnfti 

! though always with moderation, had neverthelen oonatantly 
during the reign of Maria Theresa, repelled what was caUed 

I the progress of light in the eighteenth oentory. Then eamt 
*Nm<^I^ the Second, who lavished all these lights on a ooontq^ 

56 VADAia BB WiAMLh OBIftAVr. 

BOl 7«t pn^and cUber Ibr (U good orflio ofU wUoh Ihqr 
won qMUod to piodooo. Hb moeoodod, Ibr tho morocnt^ in 
flbm olgaol of Ui wUmi% beeanto tfaroug^ioot Antlria lio mot 
wilk BO aellvo onM4ion oithor in ftfor o( or contnfj to bk 
dcttm; bvl, ** afkor Ui doath, BotUiig romainod of all bb oa- 
faHatwmtTi*' beeaaia Bolbing eaa lasl but tbal wbieh ad- 
TBBOoa Djr dflgffooii 

Indartqr, good Ihiag^ and dowortto onjoymontii are the 
prneipdiiiilorQitaof Analria; noiwiUMtaadingtboglorjwblob 
■ho aeqabrid bj (bo ponovenuMo and ralor rf hor armioii tho 
niStaiy ^faft baa BOl redlj poaotfatod all olaaaea of tho nation. 
Iler aimioa aiOb Ibr bor, ao many noting fi»rtiflcationa| bot tboro 
In no groater onndation in tbia tban in otiior profciiioni; tho 
BKMt boDoraUo offlceia are at tho aamo time tho bimvoiit; and 
this roflocta opon thorn ao nnibb tho more orodit^ as a brilliant 
and rapid advanoemont is seldom tho oonsoqaoneo of Uioir 
efforts. In Austria thej almost scmplo to show fiivorto supe- 
rior men, and it sometimes seems as if goromment wiHliotl to 
push equmlity eron furtlier tlmu nature itself, aud to treat talent 
and modtocrity with tho same undistiuguisliing impartiality, 

Tho absoneo of emulation has, indeed, one advantago^it al- 
lays Tsnity ; but ofton pride itself partakes of it; and, in the 
end, there remains only a sort of easy arrogance, which is sat* 
isficd with tho exterior of all things. 

I think that it was also a bad system, that of forbidding tho 
importation of foreign books. If it were possible to preserve 
to a eountry the energy of tho thirteenth and fourteenth con« 
lories by defending it from the writings of tho eighteenth, this 
might perhaps be a great adTantago ; but as it is absolutely 
necessary, that tho opinions and the discoTcries of Europe 
mnst penetrate into tho midst of a monarchy, which is itself 
in the centre of Enrope, it is a disadvantage to let them reach 
it only by halves ; for the worst writings are those which are 
most sore to make their way. Books, filled with Unmoral 
pkasantriea and selfish jNrincipleSi amuse the vulgar, and al- 

BoppfSSMd bj Ihs 


ways fall into thoir hands ; while prohibitory laws are abeo» 
lutoly ofibctivo only against those philosophical worics, which 
tend to olorato the mind, and enlarge the ideas. The con- 
straint which those laws impose is precisely that which is 
wanting to favor the indolence of the understanding, bat not 
to preserve the innocence of the heart 

In a country where all emotion ia of slow growth ; in a 
country whore every tiling inspires a deep tranquiUi^t tho 
slightest obstacle is enough to deter men iVom acting or writ- 
ing, or even (if it is required) from thinking. What can wa 
have bettor than happiness t Uicy say. It is neoessary to un* 
dorstand, however, what they mean by tlie word. Does hap* 
. pinesA consist in the faculties we develop, or in those we sap- 
' prcAsf No doubt a government is always worthy of esteem, 
so long as it does not abuse its power, and never sacrifices 
justice to its interest; but Uie IinppinoM of sleep is deceitful; 
great reverses may occur to disturb it ; and we oaght noC to 
lot the steeds stand still for Uio sake of Iiolding the reins more 
gently and easily. 

A nation may easily content itself witli those common bless- 
ii^ of life, repose and ease ; and superficial tliinkors will pro- 
tend, tliat the whole social art is confined to securing theso 
blessings to the people. Yet are more noble gifts necessary to 
inspire the feeling of patriotism. This feeling is combined of 
tho romcmbranccA which great men have left behind tliem, tho ' 
admiration inspired by tlie chrfi^d'osuvre of national geniasi 
and lastly, the love whicb is felt for tlie institutions, tho-relig^ 
ion, and the glory of our country. These riches of the soul 
are the only riches tliat a foreign yoke could tear away ; if 
therefore material enjoyments were tlic only objects of thoughti 
might not the same soil always produce them, let who will bo 
its masters! 

They believed in Austria, during the last century, that the 
cultivation of letters would tend to enfeeble the military spirit; 
but they wore deceived. Rodolph of Habsbuig* untied from 

> Kmt tlis right bsnk of the Asr, In ths Otnton of Atrgon, Bwitstrisnd, 
atsads ths vUlags of Hsbsbiug. Thers maj bs sow ths ralas «f a ssslla 


UneAOe golden duun which ha wofo^to doeontoathea 

eeUnled poet. ^•**"'^^* dietiiled the poem whioh he 

eeond to be written. Cheilee the Fifth knew, and cnltiTated, 

ahnort all huf^oagea^ Moat of the thnmea of Europe were 

Ameiij fflhd hj aoforeigni well infonned in all kinda of 

lennii^ and who ditcovored in literary acquiromenta a new 

aomee of mental grandeur. Neither leambg nor the ideneca 

'wiU eter hart the enoigj of ehainetor. Etoqoenee rondcn 

Been mofo bn?e^ and eoungo rendora them more eloquent; 

ereij thing that makoa the heart beat in unison with a genor- 

ooa aontimenti donUda the true ftiength of maUi his will : but 

that sjstematio seliishnesiii in which a man sometimes compro* 

henda hia ISunilj as an appendage of himself but that pliiloso- 

phj which is merely Tulgar at bottom, however dogtnt in 

appearance, which Icada to the contempt of every thing that 

ia ealled illusion, that iS| of self-devotion and cntliiisiasm, — ^this 

la the sort of illumination most to be dreaded for the virtnea 

of a nation ; this, novcrtiholcss, is what no consoni of the press 

can ever expel from a country surrounded by the atmosphere 

of the eighteenth century : we can never escape froui what is 

bad and hurtful in boobs but by freely admitting from all 

quarters whatever they contain of greatness and liberality. 

The representatioQ of ^ Don Carlos'* was forbidden at Yien* 
na, because they would not tolerate his love for Elizabeth. In 
Schiller's ^ Joan of Arc,** Agnes Sorel was made llio lawful 
wife of Charles the Seventh, llie public library was forbidden 
to let the ^ Esprit des Lois** be read ; and while all this con- 
atraint was practised, the romances of Cr^billon circulated in 
everybody*s hands, licentioiin works found entrance, and sen* 
ens ones alone wore suppn*mMHL 

The mischief of bad books is only to be corrected by good 
ones; the bad consequences of enlightenment are only avoided 
by rendering the enlightenment more complete. There are 
two roads to every thing — ^to retrench that which is danger* 

wliichwMt]is.origiiiiat«siof tlisr^ettB^f of Anstris. Hapsbooig, 
Iht «bm1 orthogn^, is viWMMs^ JUL 



008, or to giro new strength to resiii it The latter ii the only 
method that soite the times in which wo lire; ignormee can- 
not now hare innocence for its companion, and therefore can 
onlj do mischiet So many words hare becoi spokotti so many 
sophisms repeated, that it is necessary to know rooch, in order 
to judge rightly ; and the times are passed when men eoafiaed 
their ideas to the patrimony of their fathers. We most thinly 
then, not in what manner to repel the introdaction of li|^t| 
bat how to render it complete, so that its broken rays may not 
present £dse colors. A government most not pretend to keep 
a great nation in ignorance of the spirit which gorems the 
ago ; this spirit contains the elements of strength and grealr 
ncss, which may be employed with success, when men are not 
afraid boldly to meet every question that presents itself: they 
will then find, in eternal truths, resources against transitory 
errors, and in liberty itself^ the support of order and the ao^^ 
mentation of power. 



YxsHKA is situated in a plain, surrounded by pictursaqna 
hills. l^eDanube, which passes through and ency 

TUftTlT r!wM^* 




uJets ; but this river loses- itiT own dSg^aSy^ 
mgs, and MiB to produce the linpression which its ancient 
renown promises. Vienna is an o^dtoirn,'flmaa enough In 
Itself l)ut begin with spacious suburbs. It is pretended that 
the city, surrounded by its fortifications, is not more extanaiYB 
now than it was at the time when Richard Cknar-de-LioA' 

> Biohftrd was arrested near Frieaaoh, one bnndred and ift/ mDas 
Vienna, on the road to Venice; and It is not improbable thai he 
prisoned at the castle of Dlkrrenstein, on the fttmtier belweeii 8Mi| 
Carinthia, at the entrance of ifie beantiibl rtJU&f of the OtaL— JML 

^latHl Mv ito gala. TIm itnclB an u butow n thoM 
^ Uf ; Os paiMM nan, IB UBO d^rae, Uton afFtonaee ; 
hdH^aaOSiig th«« RMmUca tha nrt of 600011117, except 
■ftv OoOh afibei^ «U^ bri^ bM^ the middlo agca hi tha 

IUiBt«rdwncdificeaM the tower of 6L Stephen, wbich ' 
^«a absra all tko olber eltimliea of Vieuia, and reigns majca- 
^^^Sf omr the good and peacefbl atj, wh«ae gonerationa and 
S^orin it baa aeen paM tenj. It tatik two centoric^ tliof 
^Tn to faiA thia tower, begnn in 1100 ;' the whole Autrian 
"^trdij ia in acaaa manner connected with it. No building 
**» be BO patriotic as a church ; in that alone all classes of thg 
— tiuu an assemUed, — that alone brings to the recoUoetion 
***& mcrelj poblie ercnta, bnt the secret thooghta and inward 
*^^«t)onB whidi both cbio& and pct^le have carriod into its 
''^Vtmrj. The temple of the divinity seoms present, like God 
''"cmcUI to ages passed awaj. 

^tTjc monnmcDt of Prince Eogcno is tho only one tlint has 
^^», for some time post, erected in this cburch ; bo Ihcro lies 
^^tieg for other heroes. As I approached it, I sftir a noUce 
*^^ed to one of its pillnre, thnt a joimg woman bc^cd of 
. **«o who should read this piipcr to pray for her during her 
"^^Caeaa. The name of tliii young woman was not given ; it 
^^^ some unfortnnato being, oddTCssir.g hcraclf to beings nn- 
I, not for tlicir alms, but for tlicir prayers; and all this 
^i by tho side of tho illustrious dead, who had himself 
^~*«aBps, eomjiBMion on the unhappy living. It is a pious cus- 
r**^ among Ci Catholics, and one which we ought to imitate, 
I«ii<ru tho ehurclics alwayf open; there arc so many mo- 
^**ta in which we feel thowant of sueh an asylum; and never 
"^vo outor it without feeling an emotion which does good to 

**Th« SuM 3Vm*p, yxguji In ISSt, uid nrrinl to two tliInU lu jitw 
^ lidcU,^*n*rsl>ltMiD)BaadOaorpJIciiMr, wusonipljibHl In lilt 

S. VndssU/ ti^n Ua Imm to ha rauinlt In nfnUriy rMNotlnir ■raltn u<l 
T ^ * * ""- ltblbwhuidrod«Bdlbrtr-finTKnf1UhbssU(h."— <irar- 



the soul, and restores it, as bj a holy ablutioOf to streugth and 

There ia no great ci^ without ita public building, ita prom^ 
enade, or some other wonder of art or of nature, to which tho 
recollcctiona of infancy attach themaelTca; and I think that 
the Prater must poeaess a charm of thia deacription for the 
inhabitants of Vienna. Nowhere do we find, so near the capi- 
tal, a pablic walk so rich in the beautica at once of nido and 
ornamented nature. A majestic forest extends to the banka of 
the Danube ; herds of deer are seen from afar passing through 
the meadow ; they return every morning, and fly away orory 
evening, when the influx of company disturbs Uioir aolitnde. 
A spectacle, seen at Paris only three times a year, on the road 
to Longchamp,' is renewed every day, during the fine seaaon, 
at Vienna. This is an Italian custom — the daily promenado 
at the same hour. Such regularity would be impracticaUo in 
a country where pleasures are so diversified aa at Paria; bat 
the Viennese, from whatever cause, would find it difficult to 
rclinqui9h the habit of it It must be agreed that it fema a 
most striking coup (Tail, the sight of a whole nation of dtixona 
assembled under the shade of magnificent trees, on a turf kept 
ever verdant by the waters of the Danube. The people of 
fashion in carriages, those of the lower orders on foot, moot 
tliero every evening.' In this wise country, even pleasures are 
looked upon in the light of duties, and tliey have thia advan* 
tagc — that they never grow tedious, however uniform. The 
people preserve as much r^ularity in dissipation aa in busi- 
ness, and waste their time as methodically aa they employ ik 

> Tbo anniiAl prom^nads 44 lan^mmp takot plaeo in Um Chainps Slj* 
■te snd tlio Bob do Boulogno, on tho Wodneodsy. Tkondigr, and JMuf 
of rawioii Wook.— £/. 

■ ** Tho Pr^Ur^ tho Ilydo Park of Vtonns, oonaUta of a aorloa of low and 
partly woodod ialanUa, formod by anna of tho Danobo, wbloh aopanito fVoni 
tlM itialn trunk to njoln it lowor down. Tho ontranco to it la aitnatod ai 
tlio oxtramlty of tlio atroot eallod Jlg^o^ilo. Uara thora la an opon dra«* 
lar apaco, ftom wliioh brmneh oat aix alloya or avannoa. Ciooo to tbo im 
alloy ia tho Ttrw^u$ of tho XhHktrm JKfi&WHf— Xaiaor FordliMiid*s Herd- 
bslui— oxtanding to Bnum. Tho iaosn d , on tho rif hi (ZUapCalKsX Is the 


If yoo enter ono of the redoabts where balls aro given to tie 
atlzens on holidap, yoa mill bcliolJ men itnd women gravely 
pciformiDg, oppoute to each other, the steps of a minuet,' of 

matt fn^incnlcd, and Iculi la ihe PunciniiTia, th« Circus, uid tho ooffs*- 

^■■M, li» fwort «f tb* bMMr »1 laaiHl wUob IImt lit ando Ik* 

^AkthcpM^,Mdtak«lh^t«i«r«»fta. AttlM«>d«r«bktflif 
•kaMrtrfp«TBlcw,wltodth»I»jaMw,«kwto — ww«fth»I>«wb>. 
•MMMAng pfaviaf pmpMli thiM^ thi mM. TUa bdWif fcnM 
«• h«MlM7 df • Iha dAva ^ tani^M tam at tlda peM, aad, in tha ■»• 
■w aaaaaa, lk*r ara oAaa aa aanafaM aa tafaBaBaabfekanlliiafkaa 
tL iMrlMk'a Flaea b Um ai9 Bp to lUa pariUaa. 

"DpaBaalatMaadajr.tlMstaatdvftririaUl^ Iba Pntar, m ^M 
thiBtwMi^dwaaandpamdaaaoUaat haM,«Mdalltteii«waqotpigaaBBd 
Snriaa m tkaa dkpkr^ ftr tha ftnt Ubi. It la tha Lonitdianipa of 
TImbb. IMa, bowarsr, san budlj nahk tlw qdaDdor of tha Pialart 
tmd, «MqN In Lonloa, mk a dUpl^ la probabtjr mwbara to ba nan. It 
k Hka Ika ilB( In Ujia PaA, with tUi Aftnnee, that tba hnmbhlwa 
la admitted bj tho ildo of Uio princol; fattr-tn-hand ; and not nnfnqnontl; 
tba ODipenr'* ambling coalman ari) aloppcd bj tlie clnmaf hucliDOj-coaeli- 
man, who has eat into tho line ImincdiBteljr b«rore him. Thno, atn]d all 
tbe di>pU7 of coaU-of-anna, with qnottcrings Innnincniblg, orerowiu and 
eoioDcta, Karict and gold-lioed lircrim, llungarian laoqnayi in dolmana 
(tba hussar drew), belted Bohemian Jigert, with awards at thdr Rides and 
atnaming feather* in their eocked hata, there la far lesaaristoorstio oiclo- 
MTcness than io England. 

"Ho who coulnca UnuelT to tho drive, however, bis soon bnt half of 
tho Fntor, snd that not tho moit amosiog or cliaractorUtie portion. A 
few ateps behind tho eoffee-honiKs, the Tnter of the ajeat world ends ahd 
that of tho eommon people begins. Itis ealled the 'WUrstl Piator, proba-' 
bif from tha qnsntitj of sausages (wUnto) which aro eonstontly amoking 
and being oonsnmed in it. On Sundays and holidays ithia oU Uie sppear- 
■ooo (rf' a gioat fair. Aa far as the eyo ean roach, nnder the dees and over 
tba peencwafd, appeals one great encampment of antlers' booths and 
bnta. TbaaiDokaisooostaotlyaaeendingfhHn theaanisUal[itohens,whlla 
long rows of labka and banehoa, never empty of gneata, or bars of baot- 
Jnga and irino-bottles, aia apread ondor the shade. Bhowi and the^rea, 
Aoontabanks, Jugglers, pnnehinelloa, ropa-daatdng, awinga, and skitUaa, 
•ra tha allaremanM which antlea the holiday folks on every aide. Bnt In 
_ sadar to fbim any tolersblo notion of the aoena— tha Isnghter, the joTiall V, 
* tha aonga and the danoes, the perpetual strains of mn^o playing to tha 
wst l ess maaanf* of the waits, muat ba takes Into eaaalderation." — ( Aaa^ 
tmtfirSflitr* Otrmnf, p. sn.)~JCt. 

■ Tha Talis hsa now taken the piaea of tha gdnaat; bat ths spirit of tha 
paepla haa aat aha^ad. Wo have hoard mon than onca, at Vla&na, 
yn g n ah Mm and Aavkaaa OHlalm, *'H«w muatnUmu fy thaaa paopla 


wbich thoy havo imposed on themadTes the amiuement; Um 
crowd often separates a couple while dancing, and yet each 
persists, as if they were dancing to acquit their conscienoes; 
each moves alone, to right and left, forwards and baekwardii 
without caring about the other, who is figuring all the whih 
with equal conscientiousness ; now and then, only, they utter 
a little exclamation of joy, and then immediately return to the 
serious dischaige of their pleasure. 

It is above all on the Prater that one is struck with the ease 
and prosperity of the people of Vienna. This ci^- has the 
reputation of consumipg^morevictuals than any other place <^ 
an equal population ; and this species of superiori^, a litlla 
vulgar, is not contested. One sees whole &milica of citiaona 
and artificers, setting off at five in the evening for the Prator, 
there to take a sort of rural refreshment, equally substantial 
with a dinner elsewhere, and the money which they can afford 
to lay out upon it proves how laborious they are, and under 
how mild a government' they live. 

Tons of thousands return at night, leading by the hand their 
wives and children ; no disorder, no quarrelling disturbs all 
this multitude, whose voice is hardly heard, so silent is their 
joy! This silence, nevertheless, does not proceed from any 
melancholy disposition of the soul ; it is rather a certain phys- 
ical happiness, which induces men, in the south of Germany, 
to ruminate on their sensations, as in the north on their ideas. 
The vegetative existence of the south of Germany bean some 
analogy to the contemplative existence of the north : in eaeh, 
there is repose, indolence, and i:cflection. 

If you could imagine an equally numerous SMemUy of Tm^ 
risians mot together in the same place, the air would spaiUe 
with bon mot$^ pleasantries, and disputes; never can a French* 
man enjoy any pleasure in which his self-love wonld tooi in 
some manner find itself a place. 

Noblemen of rank take their promenade on horses^ er itt 

> It moftt be remembered thai ths A«ttrisa govemmint Is ODMwalve 
onlj io s^eldiMrf eenee.— JUL 


^rriagcB of the g^reatcst magnifiecnco and good taste ; all their 

^Dsciacnt consists in bowing, in an nllc^ of the I'rstcr, to 

■^OM jihoia they hare jost left in a cirswing-room ; but tlio 

''''vnitj' of objects renders it impossible to pursue any train Oi 

ftllMlion, and tbo greater number of men take a pleasure in 

ueidiisipating tlioec reflections ivhich trouble them. These 

.gnndecs of Vienna, the most illuntrious and the most wealthy' 

ia Eoropci, abuse none of the advantage* they possess ; they 

•llotr the humblest hackney-coaches to stop their brilliant 

equipages. Tlio emperor and his brofhen even quietly keep 

their place in the string and choose to t>e coriitidcrcd, in their 

- tmmmmtB, m printo iadbkhdt; Umj nuks om of thor 

prin)qpioBl]rwltMtb«ribUU tMrdatiM. In tho niidit <tf 

Aa crnKd XM oIUb meet iritb OricBtal, HongMiMi, and Polkh 

«o rtMr» i% vUdi ralinB tk« imagiiHtioB ; and harmonioiH 

bndi«fanrie,iliiitarTili,gh«toiIl thfa HMtnbbge tli* air 

af « pwwMa flte, im whiA y ery bod y wijoya himtelf wHlwHit 

Itmg tnabbd abont hia Mi^bor. 

Too never meet a beggar at these promcnadea ; none are to 
be seen in Vienna; the charitable establiihmcnta thero ara 
ngnlatcd with great order and liberality ; private and public 
bciic*<deaco u directed with a great tpirit of justice, and the 
people thomsolvca Iianng in general more^dustry and eom- 
meraial^ability than in the rest of Germany, each man regn- 
Uriy punnca hit own indiridaal destiny. There are (bw in> 
■tancea in Anrtria of crimca deserriog death ; oTeiy thing, in 
ahoit, id this coantry, beara the mark of a parental, wise, and 
religiona goremment. The foundations of the social edifice 
an good and respectable ; ** bnt it wants a pinnacle and col- 
mm to render it a fit temple of genios and of gloiy,"* 

I waa at Vienna, in 1808, when the Emperor Francia the 
Second married hb firet-^onsin, the daogbter of the Archdnlce 
of Uilan and the Archdncliess Beatrix, the laat prineeea of that 
honae of Eata ao eolobrated by Arioato and Taiao. Tlio Arch- 

TIENKA. . 65 

duko Ferdinand and his noble consort found themaelTes both 
deprived of their states bj the vicissitadca of war, and the 
yoang empress, brought up ''in these cmel times,"' united in 
her person the double interest of greatness and misfortnne. It 
was a union concluded by inclination, and into which no po- 
litical conTcnienco had entered, although one more honorable 
could not have been contracted. It caused at once a feeling 
of sympathy and respect, for the £unily affections which 
brought us near to this marriage, and for the illustrious rank 
which set us at a distance ^om it A young prince, the 
Archbishop of Waizen, bestowed the nuptial benediction on 
his sister and sovereign ; the mother of the empress, whose 
virtues and knowledge conspire to exercise the most powerful 
empire over her children, became in a moment the subject of 
her daughter, and walked in the procession behind her with a 
mixture of deference and of dignity, which recalled at the 
same time the rights of the crown and those of nature. The 
brothers of the emperor and empress, all employed in the 
army or in the administration, all in different ranks, all equally 
devoted to the public good, accompanied them respectively to 
the altar, and the church was filled with the grandees of the 
State, with the wives, the daughters, and the mothers, of tiie 
most ancient of the Teutonic nobility. Nothing new was pro- 
duced for the f6te ; it was sufficient for its pomp to display 
what each possessed. Even the women's ornaments were he- 
reditary, and the diamonds that had descended in every fiunily 
consecrated the remembrances of the past to tiie decoration of 
youth ; ancient times were present to all, and a.msgiuficenee 
was enjoyed, which the ages had prepared, but which cost the 
people no new sacrifices. 

The amusements which succeeded to the marriage consoera- 
tion had in them almost as much of dignity as the ceremony 
itsclfl It is not thus that private individuals ought to give 
entertainments, but it is perhaps right to find in all tiie actiona 
of kings the severe impression of their august destiny. Not 

_ _ _ _ • 

> SoppratMd by the oaosoii. 

W' mniira pS STAZL*! OIElCAirr. 

/ v&MB this ehiticb, iroond which th« diMha^ of CMUioi>a\ 

I ^ (b beating of ^ms uuioitnc«d tha renews! of Ihs nntoo \ 

J ''^WK the house* of Erte and BolMiburg, we aeo the uylnin, / 

/ '*'4hM for thcM two cenUirica iacloaed the tomba of the/ 

/ *P mm of Anatria and their (amilj. There, in tfao vault of J 

'~* Q^nchin*, it waa that Maria Tbcrcea, for thirty 7ean,\ 

^*i4 maM in tho rei; ai^t of the bnrial-place which ahe bad i 

^^>ftnd for heraelf by the aide of her hoabaod.' Tbia iUoa- \ 

^'^ princeea had anffered ao much in the dafa of her eariy 

'"^Ui, that the piona ecntimeot of the inatabilit^ of life nerer 

'^'^M^d her, even in tho midat of her greatoeta. We have 

^**^y oxamplea of a aerioaa and conatant devotion antong the 

f^^*^«giia of the earth ; aa they obej death only, hia irresiati- 


power rtrikM them the more forcibly. The difficnltiea of 

oortelvea and the tomb ; but every thing 
lerel beCne tbe eyea of kiogs, even to the laat, and that 
. lerd renders the end more viaible. 
\ *^e feast Lndncca na natarally to reflect opon the tomb ; 
H^tiy haa, in all timea, delighted hcnelf in i^BwiDg thciw two 
^"^Aget by tho Nde of each other; and bto itacif ia a terribU 
t"^ which haa too often diacovered tbe art of oniting them. 


or aooiKTr, 

The rich and the noble seldom inhabit the laborba* of Vion- 
na; and, notwithstanding that the city poaseasea in other TO- 
apecta all the advantagea of a great capital, tbe good oiitpany 

• "ETerfFrida;, tor IMrtecD rein 4ftcr tha death of Iuf hDabaad, Uarii 
Therata dBMcnded Into thli vinlt to pn; tnd weep bj tha >id« of hi* rc- 
■nlM.'* At the pretent time, the luait iaterttUag Hrcophagni la tUi 
"Uathema'' otiiugt, iiUutof joosglfapolaoii, Doke of Reielutidt. — Ed. 

■ " Tienika diffen flam moit other Eoropeui capital! in this reapeot, that 
tta old put of the town, and not the dbw, li tin mort hahloaabla. WltUn 


aooiETr. 'Vt 

IB there bionglit together as closely as in a small town. Theaa 
easy commimicatioiis, in the midst of all the ODJoyments of for* 
tane and luxury, render their habitoal life very conrenienti and 
the frame of society, if we may so express it, thai is, its habitsi 
usages, and manners, are extremely agreeable. Among for- 
eigners we hear of the severe^tiquette and aristocratical pride 
of the great Austrian nobility; this accusation is unfounded; 
there is Mm^jcii y, politenqs , and, abore alL honesty^ in tho 
good coid^any of Vienna; tuad the same spirit of justice and 
regularity, which gorems all important affairs, is to be met 
with also in the smallest circumstances. People are as puno* 
tual to their dinner and supper engagements, as they woidd be 
in the discharge of more essential promises; and those false 
airs, which make elegance consist in a contempt of the forma 
of politeness, hare never been introduced among them. Nct- 
ertheless, one of the principal disadvantages of the society oc 
Vienna is, that the nobles and men of letters do_not^mix to- 
gether. The pride of tho nobles is not the cause of this; but 
as they do not reckon many distinguished writers at^Yieni 
and people re ad but littk^ everybodiJigea in his o wi^p articu :. 
lar cpiciic, because 'thereTs noUiing but coteries in a country 
where general ideas and public interests have so small need 
of being developed. From this separation of classes it resulta 
that men of letters are deficient in grace, and that men of the 
world are rarely abundant in information. 

The exactitude of politeness, which in some reepeete is a 
virtue, since it frequently demands sacrifices, has introduced 
into Vienna the most fiitiguing of all possible forms. All the 
good company transports itself en ifuuM, fix>m one drawing* 
room to another, three or four times every week. A certain 
time is lost in the duties of the toilet, whidi are necessaiy in 
these great assemblies ; more is lost in the streets, and on the 

tho bastioxii lie tha palaoot of tho omporor tnd somo of the prlaoipal ne* 
bilitj; tho ttately dwoUingo of tho Hftrraohs, fltamrnlrfrqp^ Tnmttinnas 
dorfs, oto. ; tho pablio offiooo, tho flnoit chnzohoi, sad moot of ths masrama 
and pablio ooUootions, togoUior with ths ooQigos, tkt nAtmg^ «sd te 
moot splondid shops."— JUL 



i, waiting till the carriages draw up in order; bUU 
more in BitUng three honn at table ; and, it is impossible, in 
thcee crowded assemblies, to hear any thing that is epokcn 
bcj-ond the circle of customary phrases. Tliis daily exhibition 
of to many iDdividuals to each otlicr, is a happy tnTention of 
mediocrity to annul tho faculties of the mind. If it were es- 
tablished that thought is to be considered as a malady, against 
which a regular course of medicine is necessary, nothing could 
be imbued better adapted for the purpose than a sort of dis- 
traction At once noisy and insipid ; such as permits the follow- 
ing np of no ideas, and conTcrts language into a more chatter- 
ing, which may be taught men as well as birds, 

I have seen a piece performed at Vienna, in which Ilarlu- 
qoin enters, clothed in a long gown and a magnificent wig; 
and all at once he juggles himself away, leaving liis ivig and 
gown itanding to fignre in hia place, and goes to display hit 
real person elsewhere. One might propose this game of l^er- 
denuin to those who frequent large essemblicB. People attend 
them, not for tho sake of meeting any object that they are 
deurooa of pleasing ; aeveritT of j annnaw and trari"'l'iliy ftf 

n^antw, in A...t— ■.]! flin nffnj.finn^ [q ^ jfl boSOm of thg 

fiunily.' Thoy do not resort to them for the purposes of am- 
' billon; for every thing passes with so much regularity in Ihb 
countiir, thftt intrigno has litUo bold there ; and besides, it is' 
not in thfl midst of locio^ that it can find room to exorciM 
itself,^ ThoM visits and these circles an invented for the lake 
of giving all people tho lamo thing to do, at tho tamo hour; 
•od thus thcj prefer tho tnnui, of which tliof partatco with 
their e<]aalB, to tlio amnsoment which tlioy would be forood to 
create toT thcrosolvcs at homo. 

OroAt aasomblicB and great dinnon take place in other citiei 
besides Vienna; but as at such moetingi wo generally seo all 
the distinguished individuals of the countries where we assem- 
Ue, we then And more opportunitiof of escaping from thoMi 

— "*■-' 


forms of oonTersatioDy which upon such occauons saoeeed to 
the first salutations, and prolong them in words. Society does 
not in Austria, as in France, contribute to the derdopment or 
the animation of the understanding; it lear^ in the head 
nothing but noise^ and^emptincss ; whence it follows, bcsidesi 
that the more intelligent members of the community generally 
estrange themselves from it ; it is frequented by women alone, 
and even that share of understanding which they possess k 
astonishing, considering the nature of the life they lc»d. For- 
eigners justly appreciate the agreeableness of their oonversn* 
tion ; but none are so rarely to be met with in the drawing- 
rooms of the capital of Germany, as the men of Germany 

In the society of Vienna, a stranger must be pleased with 
tlio proper assurance, the elegance, and nobleness of manner, 
which reign throughout under the influence of the women ; 
yet there is wanting to it something to say, something to do^ 
an end, an interest One feels a wish that to-day may be dil^ 
ferent from yesterday, yet without such variety as would inter* 
rupt the chain of affections and habits. In retirement, monot- 
ony tranquillizes the soul ; in the great world, it only Uidgam 
the mind. 




,^[|f^]BdcB$iafiti^ fQ.ttd(vl. spirit and ofJhfijOldj^i^a 

lifci whiciTwos the consequence of it, has introdnood a great 
deal of leisure among the nobility; this leisure liai 
the amusement of society necessary to their oxistooiee ; imd 
the French are reputed masters in the art of conversation, they 
have made themselves throughout Europe the sovereigns of 
opinion, or rather of fashion, by which 'opinion is so eaidly 
counterfeited. Since the reign cl Louis ZHTi all the good sft* 

70 lUDAlfS DE STAKl's G£BUUfT. 

aety of the continent, Spain and ItAly excepted, has moilo itii 
•elf-lore consist in tbc imitation of tbo French. In England 
there exists a conetsnt topic of conversation, that of politics, 
the interest of which is the interest of each indivijnal and of 
nil alike ; in tho South there ia no society ; there the hriHianc; 
■r tha HM, l0n^ and ths f Ds kt^ CD ^ the whole of uiataBoa. 
AtB^w«talkipoaNhfMtojrf.^!Bntnm; and tfMipMt*( 
dn of dM Oa^y oaatiBully <&aii|^B^ gtra pliM to iogmioiia 


■■IjiaetthalptaaMitaitaJffcc wwwwtiuii w—timHifl.— »• \ 
doiea aad obaamtiaM of tba ity, ta^aetiiig thoaa TO7 par* 
Mia efwhoB what we eaQ good eon^aay fa OMDpoaed. It fa 
» aort of goiripk oanoUod bjtha great Bamaa that an lnt»- 
daeod, hSt nitisg on the mbm tanaiatixta ai that of the coao- j 
aoB peo|de; Sir, eieept that their fcnoe of q^oech an mora I 
"«d^t, tfie aalgect of it fa Oo aame— that fa to aajr, thefe/ 

T^B f"']* **"l7 ^TrBral "^^jpfta nf -"■'"■■«»«i"n »;* tiirtngTit| 
.jn^actionMiC-S^ivendLinterMt. That habitual backbiting, of 
which the idleness of drawing-rooms and tho barrenness of the 
ODdentanding make a sort of necessitj, is perhaps more or le« 
modified by goodness (rf character; jet there is always cnongh 
of it to enable na to hear, at oTery step, at eveij word, the 
bus of petty tattle, which, like the bnn of so many flies, haa 
the power of vexing even a lion. In France, people employ 
the powerful arms of ridicnle fn mutual annoyance, and fi» 
gaining the vantage-groand, which they expect will afford 
tiiem the triumph of self-lov^ ; elsewhere, a sort of indolent 
chattering uses np the Realties of the mind, and renders it 
incapable of energetio cfforta of any description whatever. 

Agreeable convetsatioi], even when merely on tnfles, and 
deriving its charm only from the gnce of ezproMion, is capa- 
ble of conferring a high degree of ^easttre ; h may be affirmed, 
witbont extravagance, that the EVench are almost alone maa- 
ters of this sort of dkcoune. It fa a dangeions, but a lively 
• Jtewiie, in which knlgeeta are played with like a ball, wUeb - 
k te turn «OBM iMk to the haad of tho IhiQwK. 



Foreignon, when they wish to imitate the Firench, affeot 
more immorality, and are yet more friyoloos than they, flnom 
an apprehension that serionsneai may be deficient in graca^ 
and that their thoughts and reflections inay M of ponessing 
the tme Parisian accent 

The Anstrians, in general, have at once too much JkiSnoia 
and too much sincerity, to be ambitious of attaining fordgn 
manners. I^ertheless, they are not yet sufficiently iSeRnamy^ 
^ey^renot jctsufficien^^ Tensed in German lit^i^BBa; it ia ' 
too much the&sEion at Vienna to beUere'tibal it is a mark of 
good taste to speak the French language only ; £oig0ttiBg4]MCC 

its,owB'B«fionid epirit and, fihaiaflter. 

The French have been the dread of all Europe, particulaily 
of Germany, by their dexterity in the art of seizing and point- 
ing out the ridiculous. The words elegance and grace pot- ' 
sessed I know not what magical influence in giving the alarm 
to self-love. It seemed as if sentiments, actions, life itsol( 
were, before all things, to be subjected to this very subtile 
legislation of fashion, which is a sort of treaty between the 
selMove of individuals and that of society ; a treaty on which 
these several and respective vanitios have erected for them- 
selves a republican constitution of government, which pro- 
nounces the sentence of ostracism upon all that ia strong and 
marked. These forms, these modes of agreement, light in ap» 
pearance and despotic at bottom, regulate the whole of czist- 
enco: they have by degrees undermined love, enthuaiasm, 
religion, all things except that selfishness which' cannot be 
reached by irony, because it exposes itself to censure, but nol 
to ridicule. 

The understanding of the Ge rmMia agrees lesaj han th>tj>f 
aiy ., otticff peSpie-'tfitOEflr^gro ; that under* 

standiil^ hasliltrdtfany power oveFT^esurfacofot things ; it 
must examine deeply in order to comprehend ; it seixes notb* 
ing on the wmg ; and it would be in vain that the Oennaiia 
disencumbered themselves of the properties and ideas instilled 
into them at their birth ; linee the loss of the anbatance would 


' HA r^*" nc KUL*! aznturr. 

Sot iwider them lij^ter in Um fenu, Bad thof woald n&at 
•tM(MM Gemui without worth, than uniable FnnchineB. 

It mnt not ba tbeaeo codclodad that gncs ii doni«cl them ; 
jntigT— "" and aaaobili^ eonftr it npon them, when thej n- 
aign thenMbea to their natnfal diquntioiM. Their gaye^ — 
u^ gnye^.they pOMCM, paitiealariy in Anatria — hiv not the 
■nallnat reMmUaitea to the gaje^ of the Rench. Hie Tfro- 
leM frra«% bj whkh at Vienna the gnat are equallf anraaad 
with the nigar, an nneh mon Burijr allied to Italiair bnf- 
fceneiy ftan to Reach ridicule; thayjgigtf in eenie leeaea 
af ^ft»nig "I'^iflT ^, rap t eeB Htiiiff bmnan natoia ^rith tegfe 
"^^ Tirt " f ffii-J "[ ■■"we with ddiocy. iTet etiU thie ptye^, 
•nch ■■ il !■ !■ ViTilll llBim lliiii Mm imitation of a fiNreigii _ 

giaoe : each grace majr well be dttpenied with ; bat p 
in whatever style, ii,atiU aomething. "The aecendency ob- 
tained bj French nuinnets has perhaps prepared foreignoia to 
believe them inrincible. Thora ie but one method of ronisting 
this inflnence ; and that consicts in very decided national hab- 
iti and cbaractcT."' From the moment tliat men seek to re- 
■emble the French, they must yield the advant^e to tbem in 
erery thing. The English, not fearing the ridicnle of which 
the French are masters, bare sometimes Tentnred to pay them 
bi kind ; and, so far from English manners appearing nngrace- 
fnl eren in France, the French, so generally imitated, became 
inutators in their torn, and England was for a long time ai 
snch the lashion at Paris, as Paris itself in all other parts of 
the world. 

The Germans might create to tbemaetyes a society of a moat ' 
iuitnictiTe east, and altogether analogous to their taste and '. 
eharacte^ Vienna beinf; thecMita] pf flap nany^ tliat place \ 
in which all the eomfertsai^'^nilinonts of lifean'moat cauly 
.to be fbnnd collected, might in this respectharo rendered great 
lerrioea to the German spirit, if Gweigners had not almost ez- 
dndvely presided at all their aiaembliea. Tho gonenlily of 
fcostriaaa, who know not bow to oonfom to the Fhneh Un- 


gnage and costoms, lived entirely cmt <yf the world; froutt 
whence it resulted tiiat they were nerer aoftened by the • 06ih 
( renation of women, but remained at once ahy and nnpoHahed, 
I despising etery thing that is called grace, and yet secretly 
'i fearing to appear deficient in it; theyn^lected the ColtiTalioil 
; of their understandinsis under the pretext of miUtaiy oceopi^ 
! UoiiSi and yet they often neglected those occupations als(s be» 
cause they ncTcr heard any thing that might make them feel 
the value and the charm of glory. They tiiought they showed 
themsdres good Germans in withdrawing fiom a society in 
which foreigners had the lead, yet never dreamed of estaUislH 
ing anotheri capable of improving the understanding and nil* 
folding the mind. 

The Poles and Russians, who constituted the chanii of so* 
cie^ at Vienna, spoke nothing but French, and contributed to 
the disuse of the Qermanjanguage. TheJPolish women hAvd 
very seductive manners; they unite an Oriental imagination 
wiUi the suppleni;ss and the vivaci^ of France. Yet, even 
among the Sclavonic, tho most flexible of all nations the imi* 
tation of the French style is often very fSsitiguing; the French 
verses of tho Poles and Russians resemble, with some few ex- 
ceptions, the Latin verses of the middle age. A foreign laii« 
guage is always, in many respects, a dead language* French 
verses are at the same time the easiest and the most diflbmlt 
to be written. To tie hemistiches to one another, which am 
so much in the habit of being found together, is but a labor of 
the memory; but it is necessary to have breathed the air of a 
countiy, to have thought, enjoyed, or su£fered, in ib langnagei 
in order to describe poetically what is fSslt. Foreigners, who 
are above all things proud of speaking Ftoch correctly, dans 
not form any opinion of our writers otiberwise than as they ari 
guided by the authori^ of literaiy critics, lest they should pais 
for not understanding them. They praise the style more thift 
the ideas, because ideas belong to all nations,.aiid tho tmbA , 
alone are judges of style in their own language. 

If you meet a true Frenchman, you take apleasnre in qped> 
ing with him on subjects of French literatore; you find jon^ 
Yoa. L-Hl 


■elf at home, sad taSt abont yoat mntnat ft^'aira; but a for- 
eigner Frenchified docs not allow himself a einglc opinion or 
phrase not atrictlj ortbodoi ; and it is most frequently an ob- 
solete orthodoxy that he takes for the current opinion of the 
day. In many northern countries, people still repeat anec- 
dotes of the court of Louis the Fourtoonth. Foreiirnere, who 
imitate the French, relate the quarrels of Mademoiselle de 
Fontanges and Madame de Uontespan, with a proiiiity of <!c- 
Uil, which would bo tedious even in recording a transaction of 
jectcrday. This erudition of the boudoir, this obstinate at- 
tachinent to tome received ideas, for no other reason than the 
difficulty of laying in a new stock of prorisions of the same 
nature— all this u tiresome and even hurt^; for tho true 
Btnn^ of a country is its natural character; and thu imiU- 
tioB of fbreignen, nnder ill drcnmstMcea whattrrer, la a wiutt 

Frenehmen of sense, when they travel, ue not pleased with 
finding among fereignen the spirit of Frenchmen ; and, on the 
contrary, look oat fiir those who nnite national to individaal 
originality. French milliners export to tho colonies, to Ger- 
many, and to the North, what they commonly call their thop- 
Jiatd (JbndtJ* bouli^); yet they carcfitlly collect tho nation- 
al habhs of the same coontries, and look upon them, with good 
reason, aa reiy elegant models. What is tnie with regard to 
dicH, ia eqo^y tme with regard to the ondenstanding. We 
hare ft cargo of madrigals, calcmboniga, raodeTillea, which we 
pasa off to fereignen when they are done with in France ; but 
tho Fkendi themselToi ralne nothing in foreign litentnie bnt 
its ind^enoos beantiea. There is no nature, no lifis, in imit»- 
tioD ; and, in general, to all these gndersUndinga and to all 
these works, imitated from the French, may be ftppliod the 
aokiginm pronoaiKod by OriaAdov in Aiiosto, upon his mare, 
- vhila he is dngging hei after him — " She poesees ea all the 
good qnalitiea that can be tmapned; bnt has <a« frnlt,that 





SupxRioiuTT of mind and soul is seldom met wiih in Anjr 
coontrj, and, for this very reason, it retains the name of sapo* 
riority ; thus, in order to judge of national character, we should 
eiamine the mass of the people. Men of genius are fellow- 
citizens ereiywhere ; but, to perceive justly the difference be- 
tween the French and Germans, we should take pains to under- 
stand the conmiunities of which the two nations are composed* 
A Frenchman can speak, even witho ut ideas; a German haa^ 
tfwajs iPorftiBijiis head than ne is aoie io expres s.^ We may 
-be entertained byTHYenelUhan, even wnen he ladai under- 
standing. He relates all he has done and seen, all the good 
that he thinks of himself the praises he has received, the great 
lords he is acquainted with, the success he hopes for. A Ger- 
man, unless he thinks, can say nothing ; he is embarrassed by 
forms, which he wishes to render polite, and by which he in- 
commodes others, as well as himselfl In France, Folly is ani- 
mated, but supercilious. She boasts of not being able to com- 
prehend, though you demand of her ever so little attention, 
and thinks to lessen what she does not understan4, by affirm- 
ing that it is obscure. The prevailing opinion of the country 
being, that success is the criterion of every thing; even foolsi 
in the quality of spectat<Mrs, think themselves capable of infliH 
encing the intrinsic merit of things, by refusing to afford them 
the distinction of their applause. P aoplq p f mfff^^^^**" ^ gi 
Ger^oany^ arci onJ^oj^ntnfjiJ^^ _ 

blush at finding themselves unable to rise to the levd of 
ideas of some distbguished writer; and, far from reckoniBg 
themselves judges, they aspire to become disoiples. 

In IVance^ there are so many ready-made pfaiaiea on efiij 




■djadi Oili mth thdr wrfihiiK^i a ibol may dkeoune wdl 
fir MBM tioM^ and fMT a mooMBt •?«& tMiii a niaa of 

« qpinion en any wlaect whatofwr wHh confld gaca; 
^pBuoii aetag reoetred ai inooatestaUai yoa ciii iltnSUf 
vttMNit being pfevionsly amed to defend ft; thus oidi- 
peepla an^ fir tfie moti part| lileati and ecmtribiite noUi- 
i^g to Am pleanne of loeiety, eioq)t the ehann of good-nator^ 
Jh Oermanj, dirtingaiihed pmons only know bow ta talk; 
lASk, bi TnaiObf wngj one is leady to beer bie ihaie in eon- 
w i MlkHi . People of loperior minde aie indulgent in Ranoe^ 
and Mfen in Gennany; on the eontiaiy, Aeneb feob aie 
g M Bg n ant and jeekma; wbile tboae of Geimanyi bowefer 
boonded in iittollecti aie yet able to praise and adiniie. The 
ideas diciibited in Gennany, on many snlgectai aie new, and 

often wbimrieal ; fiom whence ft IbllowBy that those who reqpeet 
them appear, for scnne timoi to poesess a sort of borrowed pro- 
fiindity. In France, it is by manners that men pve themselves 
an iUnsoiy importasce. These manners are sgrceable, bat 
nniibrm; and the discipline of fisMhion wears away all the 
Tarie^ that they might otherwise possess. 

A man of wft told me, that, one evening, at a masked ball, 
be walked before a lookii^-glafls; and that, not knowing how 
to point himself ont to himself from the crowd of persons 
wearing nmilar dominos with his own, he nodded his head to 
recognize himself: the aame may be said of the dress with 
wbidi the nnderrtanding clothes itself in the world ; we almost 
conlbond onraelves with others — so little is the real character 
shown in any of nsl Folly finds herself well off in all this 
confbsion, and wonld make advantage of it by contesting the 
possession of real merit Stupidity and felly are essentially 
different in this, — stupid people volontarily sobmit themselves 
to nature^ while feola always fatter themselves with the hope 
of goferaing m society* 

• * * m 




Sft8t| when men Have nothmg to ujt they imolka; 
^^7 are smoking, from time to timei talnto each 
their arma folded across their breastsi as a made of 

l>Qt» in the West, people prefer to talk all day 
the warmth of the sonl is often dissipated in these 
OS, where self-love is always on the wing to display 
ding to the taste of the moment, and of the ciiele 
finds itself. 

to me an acknowledged fS^t, that Paris is, of aD 
e world, that in which the spirit and taste for eon- 
ro most generally dififascd ; and that disorder, which 
le nuU du payt^ that undofinable longing for oar 
) which exists independently even of the friends we 
•ehind there, applies particularly to the pleasoxe of 
n which Frenchmen find nowhere else in the aame 
St home. Volney relates, that some French emi- 
kn, daring the revolution, to establish a colony and 
lands in America; but they were continually quit- 
work to go and talk, as they said, in town^— Hsnd 
STcw Orleans, was distant six hundred leaguea from 
of residence. The necessity <tf conversation la fell 
OS of people in France : speech is not there, aa dst* 
ely the means of conmiunicating from one to an- 
, sentiments, and transactions; but it is an instni« 
hich they arc fond of playing, and which animates 
like music among some people, and strong liquota 

aPteiri«a(bll7kaewswhsti>is#itMW4llsfflli,*i^iK ...* 


MJUDuun M njJo^B naauxt. 

TkA nrt of plejiMB^ wUeh b pro dp ced bj an animatad 
doea BOl pradadly depoad en the aatma of that 
; fha idaaa and kaowladga whieh h dordopa do 
fomilapimcipaliiitaiast; hiaaeertafamiaiiiierof aeting 
OM aMthar, of gifiag imitaal and inatantaiioona delig^ti 
of tpealnif fha moBMOt one ihinkii of acqniriiig imnMdiata 
ajfuiyufjumyt^ of feoahriag applauaa without Ubor, of display- 
lag fla ndeirtaiidiiig in 1^ ito diadaa bj aoeonti gottofOi look ; 
•f aBeilbg^ in dioiii at win, the daelrio ipailn, which rdie?o 
MBM «f tha aieeaa of their nracitf 9 and Mnra to awaken othan 
ant«f a alata of painfid apathy. 

to ihia talent than the character 


aeifcwa reanlt Bacon haa aaid, trnt'conMrfation ti 
WK HU foaJ Uaamflo tk§ ktnue^ tal a hf-piUk wksrt ptopU 
^9tU wUk pieanire. The Gennant giye the neceasaTj time to 
fll things^ bat what la necessary to conyersation is amosoment; 
if men pass this line, they fall into discussion, into serions ar- 
gpunenti which is rather a nsefhl occupation than an agroca- 
bb art It must also be confessed, that the taste for society, 
and the intoxication of mind which it produces, singularly in- 
d^iadtate for application and stndy, and the virtues of the 
Gennans depend peifaapa in some respects npon the very ab- 
sence <tf this spirit 

The ancient forms of politeness, still in fuU force almost aU 
aver Germany, are contnry to the ease and &miliarity of con- 
weraation; the most inconsiderable titles, which are yet tlie 
longest to be'prononnced, are there bestowed and repeated 
twenty times at the same meal ;* every dish, every glass of 

1 ■^OiMliAUt of Gwinan aoeietj, which eumot fkil fometlniM to ooomIoh 
»mll« to an Kngliohmm, though it ooots him lonio troablo to Mqnlro It, 
!• tho BoeoMlty of ftddreMing oreiybodj, whether male or female, not bj 
thOr own name, but hj the titlea of the office which they hold. 

^ To aocoet a genUeman, aa ia naiial in England, with Sir (Main Ilerr), I f 

eooaldired among the Gennana themaelvea aa an actaial inanlt, Is at 

net w ay lfa i wfti i' f ; it ia leqniaite to And out hie oOce or proftiielon. 

and ICademoieeUe, addieaeed to German ladiea, are eqnaUy tenna 

The imminnmil title la whieh ev«ybo4y aq^ws ia that ef 




wine, must bo offorod with • Bodulity and • prenbg nuouMr, 
which is mortally todiooa to foroignon. Then ia a aort of 
goodnosa at tho bottom of all these osagea; but they eonld 
not- subsist for an instant in a coantiy where pleasantey may 

ConnoUl^ (Bath), which U modified and extandod by Tsrioos sfflxis snd 
pToftxoi. Then is a rath for ovoiy profetaioa t an arohiteot is a Baarath ; 
an advocate a JoBtixrath, Ao., Ac ; and a penon with no profettion al aU 
contrives to be made a IlofVath (court coondUor), a Toiy unmeaning title, 
which is gononllj bomo \>j persons who were nerer in a aitoatioa to fiTS 
advice to tho court The dignity of Staatsrath (privy oonnelllor) Sa fiviii 
to members of Uie administration ; some real dignity is attached to it, and 
the persons bearing it are Airthcr addressed hj the title of MOfflMMy. Ths 
title of Professor is much abused, aa it is oertainlj appropriated i^many 
persons who have no real claim to it bj their learning or oflioe. It la be^ 
tor, in conversing with a Oerman, to give a person a rank greater than ha 
is entitled to than to fell beneath the mark. Oeheimrath, for example, la 
higher than Professor. It is upon this principle that aa Knglishman la 
somotimos addressed hj the common people, to his great surprise, aa H«rr 
Oraf (Mr. Count), and often ss £uer Onaden (Tour Oraoe). 

" * Every man who holds anj public ofiElce, riiould it be merely that of aa 
under dork, with a paltry saltfy of £40 a jear, must be grstiAod by hear- 
ing his title, not his name. Even absent persons, whoi spoken of^ are 
generally designated by their offidal titles, however humble and unmeaa- 
ing they may be. The ladies are not behind in asserting ther dalma to 
honorary appellations. All over Germany a wifo insiata upon taking tha 
title of her husband, with a feminine termination. There is Ifadama 
6eneml-c88, Madame Privy Counoillor-esa, Madame Psybook-'keepw sm, 
and a hundred others.*— Bvbsbll. 

** Bead snd see Kotzeboe*s amusing ridicule of this, in hia comedy callad 
Die Deutschen l^einst&dter. 

** These titios sometimes extend to an slmost unpronounceable length. 
Only think, for instance, of addressing a lady aa Frau Oberoonaistorial- 
direotorin (Mrs. Directress of the Upper Conristory Couct). This may ba 
avoided, however, by substituting the words GnSdige Tna (Gradoos Ma- 
dame) in addressing a lady. It must at the same time be obeerved, that 
this fondness for tities, snd especially for the prefix ams (y, aquivalcBt to 
the Frenoh <<f , and originally denoting the posseasor of aa estate), la, to a 
certain extent, a vulgarity from which the upper dassei of Germaa aodaty 
are ftee. The rulers of Germany take advantsge of the natioosl tbbIIj, 
and lay those upon whom they confer the rank under obligation; whQa 
they, at the same time, levy a tax upon the dignity proportiooata to Ha 
deration ; thus a mere Hofiath pays fh>m thirty to forty doUaia aaavaUy, 
and the higher dignities a more oonddersble aum. If; howavw, tha tHIa 
is acquired by merit, no tax is paid, bul merely a eoatribation la a tod 
for thi widows and childrea of the diMs. 

^' Gartahi forma aad titlea are alao prtflxad oa the addnas of a kHHT t 


iMridDadwiflMNiloffnioetafiiieeplibilitf; iHid7«t|Whertcftii 
1m Am giiee and the ehann of todbtf 9 if H foiU^ 
lidienk whidi difttti <Im mmdy and addi eraii to the ehaim 
cf good-Baton aai agnoUe mode of espfeaioii t 
Hm oouna of kbaa inr the last eoBtniy bat been entirely 

a €0«Bl«rtlM Irfg^BobiBix Hid aodttt impiie mMl be •adiinod X 
(Mitiloi); e comit <f the !•■■» no bl > M i, Hoci n tbowDtr Hwr (Hi^ 
bemfib); a1»ieo nd • alBittery «f«i tboogh aolef anoble biftli,ie 
rnttmA Hbdnrolilfebotw; a meielieiil or roHirier mMl oontent blmMlf 
vilh tefa^ termed Woia(w«U)Geborai; i^lk Hoehedel (Ugh iieUe) W 
Iroefarily iffpPod to tndmnmk, 

***Ia one leepeel, in Qoraunqrv 1 tUnk polltww Is oenAed loo fti^l 
■MniatlMpaipetaileelofpiiUiiiir off tha iMk ^Mikliif liidiarofiiBiT if 
ill H ledllf b won m cqpcMlM, lbr« iHth a maa who hat a larft aoqaauii- 
anea la aiqr pahllo phMa, Ue hat Sa narv two mlmitea at rait.*— NiaiBoe^a 

** A eorloiia Inattaea of tha astaat to whidi thto piaetiee of bowing la ear* 
fiod, oe eo rre d to tha writer in a amoll proYlnolal town in the oonth of Oei^ 
umuf. At the antranoa of tha pablio promenade in the Grtmi$ Phu he 
obtomd notiom painted on boards, whloh at flist ha Ima^ned to oontaln 
aoDia police regnlaUone, or important order of Uie magietracy of tho town ; 
upon pcnuHd, however, it proved to be an ordinance to thii effect: *For 
the oonTenienoe of promenadert, it it porticolarly reqnceted that the troub- 
lepoma cuatom of aaluUng bj taking off tho hat should hera be dinpenaod 
with.* It is not to fKonda alone tiiot it is neoeeaarjr to doff the hat, for, 
if the friend with whom 70a are walking meets sa soqnaintanee to whom 
he takes off Ids hst, 70a mnst do the same, OTon though yon nevor saw 
him before. 

** German elfilltj, howerer, does not consist in ontward forms alone { 
a traveller wiU do well to conform, as soon as possible, to the manners of 
the country, even down to the mode of salutation, troublesome as it is. If 
ha continue nnbendlng, he will be guilty of rudeneas; and on entering any 
pobUo office, OTcn the office of tho schnellposts, the underlings of tha plaoe, 
down to tha book-keeper, will require him to take off his hat, tf ha does It 
not of his own accord. An English traveller repaired to the police office 
at Beriin to have his pasiport signed, and, having waited half an hour, 
aald to tha secretary to whom he had delivered it, *8ir, I think yon have 
forgotten my paasport.' *8ir,' replied tha man of office, *I think yon 
kave forgotten your hat I' 

** la thua recommending to travellers tha imitation of oertain German cua- 
leam, It Is not meant, be It observed, to Insist on tha practice prevalent 
aaftoag the German siai of salutiag their aia/s Arieada with a kias on each 
aide of the cheek. It Is not a UtUe amusing to obserra this, with na,/faii- 
mias mode of graeUag, eiehanged between two wlilskersd and mnstaobioed 
giaala of tha age of flfty or ii»ly.*'--afaad k9ok J^ NoHImn Qtmm^ 
ft. SU, Sie.)-.M 



directed by conyersation. They thought for the poipoM «f 
speaking, and Bpoke for the purpose of being applaaded, and 
whatever could not be said seemed to be someifaing saperfln- 
ous in the soul. The desire of pleanng is a Tery agreeable, 
disposition ; yet it differs much from the necessity of being 
beloved : the desire of pleasing renders us dependent on opin- 
ion, the necessity of being beloved sets us free from it : we may 
desire to please even those whom we wonld injure, and this is 
exactly what is called coquetry ; this coquetry does not apper- 
tain exclusively to the women ; there is enouj^ of it in all 
forms of behavior adopted to testify more affeetioii than la 
really felt Jhe integrity of the QOTmans 
nothing of this sort ; mey construe j 
M^T «iA:aMSwa..^7^fl'/yffiaaitftfrft for condoeti 

^and thonce proceeds their susceptibiKtyf *ft>f ffiey never he4r a 
word without dra^ifing^ a^cgnsequence frpni. it^ and do nO tym^ 
coivo that speech can be treated as a liberal ai^ whicb has no 

^ Other end or consequence than the pleasure which men find in 
it The spirit of conversation is sometimes attended with the 
inconvenience of impairing the sincerity of character; it ia not 
a combined, but an unpremeditated deception. The Freneli 
have admitted into it a gayoty which renders them amiabloi 
but it is not the less certain, that all that is most sacred in thia 
world has been shaken to its centre by grace, at least by that 
sort of grace that attaches importance to not&ng, and turns 
all things into ridicule* 

The ban mots of the French have been quoted from one end 
of Europe to the other. At all times they have displayed the 
brilliancy of their merit, and solaced their griefs in a lively and 
agreeable manner ; at all times they have stood in need rf one 
another, as alternate hearers and admirers ; at all times they . 
have excelled in the art of knowing where to speak and where 
to be silent, when any commanding interest triumphs over their ' 
natural liveliness ; at all times they have possessed the talent of 
living fast, of cutting short long discourses, of giving way to 
their successors who are desirous of speaking in dieir torn; at 
all times, in short, they have known how to take torn tluN^^t 




•Ad feeling DO more than is noccssurj to animato convcrention, 
without fatiguing tho weak interest which mon gonorally fool 
for ono another. 

The French are in tho habit of treating their (listrcaaeB light- 
1/ from tliQ fear of fatiguing their friends ; they giiess tho fn- 
nui that thoj would occasion by that which tliey find thcm- 
selvet capable of anstaining; the; hasten to dcmbnstrato an 
elegant earctesanesB about thoir own fate, in order to have the 
bonor, instead of receiving tlie example of it. The desire of 
appearing amiable imlaces men to aasume an expression of 
gajctj, whatever may be the inward disposition of tho aoal ; 
the physiognomy by degrees influeneea the focltnga, nnd that 
whieh we do for tho purpose of pleasing others aoon takes oS 
tho edge of our own individual Biifferinga. 

"A sensible woman has said, that Parit it, of all Iht 
tcorld, the place teherr men can mo>l eatily dirpente with hetnif 
happy. ^' it !a in this respect that it is bo convenient to the 
anfortonate hnnuii nee; bat nothing csn metamorpbOM n 
city of Germany into Faria, or cwue the Oennans, vithont 
entirely destroying their own iDdindaali^, to recoire, like 
tu, the h«nefiti of distraction. If they ncceoded in escaping 
from tlieinselTei, they would eitd in losing tiiemselrea alto- 

The talent and habit of sodefy condnoe much to the discoT- 
eiy of human characters : to snooeed in conTersation, one most 
be able cleaiiy to observe the impression whieh is prodacad at 
erery moment on those in eompsnj, that which they wish to 
ooneeal or seek to exaggerate, the inward satiifiKtion of some, 
tlie fbrced smile of others; one may see, pasting over the 
eoontenanoes of those who listen, hai^fbrmed oensnres, whieb 
mtj be evaded hy hastening to dissipate them before self-love 
i> engaged on their side. One may also behold there the first 
bbthof^iprobation, which may be stnngtheud^thont how- 
ever ""^"g fma it mora than it is willing to bestow. 


Ibere it no arona in which Tanity displays itMlf in mmIi a ▼»• 
rioty of forma as in convoraation. 

I onco knew a nutn, who was agitated by praiie to sadi a 
degree, that whenever it was bestowed upon himi he ezaggei^ 
atod what he had just said, and took sudi pains to add to hb 
success that he always ended in losing it I never dared to 
applaud him, from the fear of leading him to affeetation, and 
of his making himself ridiculous by Uie heartiness of his self' 
love. Another was so afraid of the appearance of wishing to 
display himself that he let fall words negligently and eon* 
temptuously. His assumed indolence betrayed one more affee- 
tation only, that of pretending to have none. When vanity 
displays herself she is good-natured ; when she hides hersdi^ 
the fear of being discovered renders her sour, and she affects 
indifference, saUcty, in short, all that can persuade other men 
that she has no need of them. These different combinatioiis 
are amusing for the observer, and one is always astonished that 
self-love docs not take the course, which is so simj^e, of natu- 
rally avowing its desire to please, and making the utmost pos- 
sible use of grace and truth to attain the object 

The tact which society requires, the necessity which it im- 
poses of calling different minds into actioUi all this Isbor of 
thought, in its relation with men, would be certainly usefbl to 
the Germans in many respects, by giving them more of meas- ' 
ure, of fineut^ and dexterity ; but in this talent of conversa- 
tion there is a sort of address which always takes away some- 
thing from the inflexibility of morality ; tf we could altogether 
dispense with the art of managing men, the human* chaiaofeer 
would certainly be the better in respect of greatness and en- 

The French are the most skilful diplomatists in Eoiope; 
and the v^ same persons, whom the worid accuses of india* 
crotion and •impertinence, know better than all the world be* 
sides how to keep a secret, and how to win those whom thej • 
find worth the trouble. They never displease others bntwkett 
they choose to do so; that is to say, when their vanity eon* 
eeives that it will be better served by a eontemptooiis tluui bj 

l>»«^f -^^m -tm M«* * , •••«•'» «■• ■ •■w.aa.* • *w^ ^ •*!*» '«,3p.<«» ^ t '*i> t« ••«< 


•n obliging deportment The ipirit of conrereation bu r»* 
vuAablj called out in the French the more Mrioos ipiiit of 
political negotiation ; there ia no foreign smbaiaador that ean 
oontend with them in this department, unleu, abtolotely wt- 
ting aside all pretenuon to fintMtt, he goea straight fonrard 
' ' ' >, like one who fi^ta without knowing th« art of 

"Dm retationi of the different classes with one another woi* 
alaoweDcalenlatad to doTelop in Franco the sagacity, measnre,^ 
and pToprie^ of the spirit of society. He distinction of ranks 
vaa not marked in a podtire manner, and there was constant 
Toom for ambition in the nndcfined space which was open to 
all bj tnms to conqaer or lose. The rights of the Tiors-fitat, ■ 
of the Fariiaments, of the Noblesse, even the power of the 
Ki]g, nothing was det«rmiDed by an invariablo rule; all was 
lost, as may bo said, in the oddrcss of conversation : the moat 
•erioos difficulties were evaded by the delicate variatjona of 
words and manneis, and it seldom happened to any one cither 
to oSend another or to yield to Lim; both extremes were 
avoided to carefully. The great families had also among 
themselves pretensions never decided and alwajs secretly un- ' 
derstood, and this uncertainty excited vanity much more than 
any fixed distinction of ranks could have done. It was neccs- ,' 
aary to study all that composed the existence of man or worn- 
an, in order to know the sort of consideration that was due to '■ 
them. In the habits, customs, and laws of France, there has f 
always been something arbitrary in every sense ; and thence it | 
happens that the French have possessed, if wo may use the ex- | 
jvession, so great a pedantry of frivolity : the principal foun- i 
dations not being secured, consistency was to be given to the ' 
■mallest details. In England, originality is allowed to Individ- 
tiala, BO well regulated is the mass. In France, the spirit of 
imitatioa ia like a bond of society ; and it seems as if every 
thing would fall into confusion if this bond did not mako up 
for the instability of institntiona. 

Ia Germany, ererybody keepe hia rank, bis place is society, 
«• if it -mm lus MtabUshed posti ^ there i» no qcouioa for 


dezteroiifl toniB, ptireQtheseB, half«e]qyre68ioQi| to ihow tha ad- 
Tantfkges of birth or of title which a mux thinki he pgweMW 
abore his neighbor. Qoodcompaoyyin Germaayybtheooiirt ; 
in France it consisted of all who coold pot themsdrea on aa 
eqnalit J with the court ; and erery man could hope It^ and 
erery man also fear that he might ncTer attain to it. Henoa 
It rmlted, that each indifidoal wished to poanai tbe mannoca 
of that society. In Germamj you obtained admission bj pi^ 
tent ; in France, an error of taste ejqpelled yon from it ; and 
men were even m<»e eager to resemble tbe gmi dm mmuk 
than to distinguish thonsdres, in that same world, by tlieir 
personal merit 

An aristocratical ascendency, iashion, and deganoe, obtained 
the adTantage orer energy, learning, sendUlity, understanding 
itselfl It said to energy, " You attach too much interest to 
persons and things ^ to learning, ** You take wf too modi of 
my time f to sensibility, ** You are too exdnsiTe f to under- 
standing, " You are too indiyidual a distinction.''. Adraatages 
were required that should depend more on manners than ideaa^ 
and it was of more importance to recognize in a man tbe daaa 
to which he belonged than the merit he possessed. This sort 
of equality in inequality ii rery farorable to people of medioo- 
rity, for it most necessarily destroy all originality in the mode 
of seeing and expressing one's sdd The chosen modd is noUe^ 
agreeable, and in good taste, but it is the same for aH Thia 
model is a point of reunion ; in conforming to it^ ererybo^y 
imagines himself more associated with others. ^A Frsnohmaii 
would grow as much tired of being alone in Us opinion as of 
being alone in his room. 

The French do not deserre to be accused of flattering power 
from the calculations which generally msi^ this flatteqr ; thqr 
go where all the world goes, through eril report or good re- 
port, no matter which ; if a few make themsdres pass for tbe 
multitude, they are sure that the multitude wQl diort^ foDofr 
them. The French reTOlution in 1T89 was eifected bj sending 
a courier from Tillage to Tillage to cry, *' Arm yoaradTsa } toot 
tbe ndghboring Tillage is armed ;". ud so all the woridlmid 




iUelf rucQ Dp against all the world, or rather ai^aiiut nobody. 
If ;oa ipread a report that Roch a mode of vicntug thiogi is 
BDiveTsally received, yon would obtAin tumniini^ in rpito of 

- prir»te opinioDs; yon would then keep the secret of the com- 
edy, for every one would in private confess that &11 are wrong. 
Ib secret scmtinics the depntiea have been seen to gif<9 their 
white or black ball contrary to thoir opinioD, only bocanae they 
believed the majority to bo of difibrcnt sentiments from theirown, 
■ltd becaose, u they said, tAey would not throw away their vole. 
It is by this nccecsity imposocl in society of thinking like 
other people, tb:>t tho contrast of courago in war and pnsilla- 
' Di^ in civil life, so often displayed during the revolution, 
Bv.y be best ciplained. There is but one mode of thinking 

' with respect to military courage ; but pnblic opinion may be 
bewfldered h to the conduct to be pntsnod in political life. 
Toa are threatened with the censure of those ftround yon, with 
•olitode, with desertion, if yon decline to follow the ruling 
par^ ; hut in the armies there is no other alternative than that 
of deslh or distinction — a danling sitoation for the Frenchman, 
who never &an the one, and passionately lores the other. Set 
bchion, that n, applause, on the side of danger, and you will 
we tho Frenchman brave it in every form ; the social spirit 
orists in Francs from the hi^est to the lowest : it is seceasaiy 
to hear one's self approved by one's neighbors ; nobody will at 
any piico expoee himself to censure or ridicnle ; for in a coon- 
fry where conversation haa so much influence^ the noise of 
words (Acn drowns the voice (rf conscience. 

Wa know the story of that man who began by pruung with 
ODthnsiasm on actooas he had just heard; ho perceived a smile 
on the lipa of tho«« near him, and eoflenei Us enkigioiD ; the 
obatinato smilo lUd not withdraw itael^ and the fear U lidJcnle 
made Urn eonclodo by saying, Jfa fail On poor thme did all 
$ht wtJd. T^b triumphs of [Peasantry are continDally renew- 
ed in Franco ; at one time it is thought fit to be rel^^ns, at 
another, tho contrary ; at one time to love one's wife, at an- 
other to appear nowhere in her company. There have been 
■a w w Bt a wim, \a whioh men have bend to past tat idiota if 





they evinced the least Hnmanity; and tbit terror of 

which in the higher classes generally discoTen itMlf only in 

Tanity, is transformed into ferocity in the lower. 

What mischief would not this spirit of imitxtidn do amoi^ 
the Germans 1 Their sup eriority consists in ipdependence of^ 

spirit, lovec^^re^megj^IjJuir^ 

^T^ren^are all-power^l only en fnotM, and tbeir men <ir genius 
themselves always rest on received opinions when they mean 
to push onward beyond them. In shorti the irapattonoo of the 
French character, so attractive in conversationi would deprive 
the Germans of the principal charm of their natural imagiBA- 
tion, that calm reverie, that deep contemplationi whieh ealla in 
the aid of time and perseverance to dieoover all things. 

These are qualities almost incompatible with vivacity of 
spirit; and yet this vivacity is what abovo all things renders 
conversation delightful When an argument tires, or a tala 
grows tedious, you are seized with I know not what impatienoOi 
similar to that which is experienced when a musician slackens 
the measure of an air. It is possible, nevertheless, to &tigu6 
by vivacity even as much as by prolixity. I once knew a man 
of much understanding, but so impatient, as to make all who 
talked with him feel the same sort of uneaiuness that prolix 
people experience when they perceive that they are &tigning. 
This man would jump upon a chair while you were talking to 
him, finish your sentences for you that they might not be too 
long : he first made you uneasy, and ended by stunning yon; 
for, however quick you may be in conversationi when it is im- 
possible to retrench any further, except upon what is neeessaij, 
thoughts and feelings oppress you for want of room to nnfoM 

All modes of saving time are not successful ; and a single 
sentence may be made tedious by leaving it fuU of emptiness : 
the talent of expressing one*s thoughts with brillianey and 
rapidity is that which answers best in society, where there ia 
no time to wait for any thing. No reflection, no eomplianoe^ 
can make people amuse themselves with what eonfers no 
amusement The spirit of conquest and the despotism of ano^ 


etm mnit be then «z«rted ; for tlie ond md urn being little, /OQ 
euMt couole joaneV for nTenea by tiie pnritjr of tow mo- 
tira, uid good istention goes for notiiing in point of apirit. 

Tba talent of urnitiDg, one of the principtil chuma of OOB 
vvnaboB, ii reij nn in Gcnnany ; the heven there are too 
eomplainnt, they do not grow tired >oon enough, and the na^ 
raton, rotjriiig on their patience, are too mnch at ease in their 
redtalb In France, every ■pealcer ia a lUQrper itUTonnded 
by jealoDs rivals, who miut maintwn lua post by dint of lOO* 
tern ; in Oeimany, he ia a Intimate poaaeaaor, who may peaco- 
ably enjoy hia acknowledged ligbta. 

Th" flinrnm mr r^od better in poetical than in epip am- 

matiel«lci: when jii^im«[|;ii»f;.]j^ wtj»>Mi«^i1rii««wl nM may 

-^jl^mi ^y ilgf ^■'« whi<j ] f f jttPi^ f T ^lie jM BBW ftflU jeSTriSnt ' 
w1i«i a bi m nuft ia to be repeated, the p reamble cannot be too 
mo^jhoitwicd! if teasantry ailoviatea fTrXmoment the load 
of life: yoa like to see a man, yoar equal, playing with the 
burden which wcigha yoa down, and, animated by hia exam- 
ple, yon Boon take it up in yonr tnrn ; but, when yoa discover 
effort or languor in that which ought to bo only amuaement, 
it fatigues yon moro than aeriousnoaa ilaol^ where you are at 
least interested in the rcsolta. 

The honesty of tha German character ia, perhaps, an obstacle 
to tbe-srtTiniftffatfori ;'IEe^t!craignBfte ~ B ' g u y* ty"ot dlSposl- . 
tion_.talha*-tbaft of jnind ; they arc gay, as they are honest, 
^r the satislaction of their conscicncea, and laugh at what they 
•ay a long whilo before they have even dreamed of making 
trthcra laugh at it 

Nothing, on the contrary, is equal to the charm of a recital 
in the mouth of a Frenchman of senae and taste. He forescea 
every thing, he manages every thing, and yet sacrifices nothing 
that can possibly bo productive of interest. Hia phyBi<^otDy, 
leas marked than that of the Italiana, indicates gayety, without 
loung any thing of the dignity of deportment and manners; 
lie atop* when It is proper, and sever exhausts even amuso- 
nwnt; though animated, he constantly holds in hia hand the 
nina of lua jadgment, to ooodoot bim with safety and dta- 



patch; in a short time, also, his hearers join in the eonrwaif* 
tion; he then calls ou^ in his torn, those who liave been jnsi 
applaading him, and suffers not a smgle happy expression to 
drop, without taking it up— not an agreeable pleasantly, with- 
out perceiying it; and, for a nbment at least, they delij^t and 
enjoy one another, as if all wen) concord, union, and q^pathy 
in the world. . i 

The OemMQajf onld do well to ayail themsdfes^ In esaential 
n&aiterii, of some of tHe adrantages of the ^HritoT podiety In 

l earn fr e m th e Ffewh tcrffi Sir 
iemselfes less irritable in little circumstances, that they might 
resenre all their strength for great ones i they sbould learn 
firom the French not to confound obstina^ with energy, rode- 
ness with fimmess ; they should also, .since they are capable 
of the entire sacrifice of their lires, abstain flrom reoorering 
them in detail by a sort of minute personality, which eren 
selfishness itself would not admit ; in fine, they should draw 
out of the very art of conversation the habit of shedding orer 
their books that clearness which would briiig them within the 
comprehension of a greater number — ^that talent of abridg- 
ment, invented by people who practise amusement much more 
than business — and that respect for certain proprietiei which* 
does not require any sacrifice of nature, but only the manage* 
ment of the imagination. They would perfect thdr style of 
writing by some of the observations to which the talmt of 
conversation gives birth ; but they would be in the wrong to 
pretend to that talent such as the French possess il 

\i city, ^^^^^^^j^J^serve jLSjan^^ point, woul d be 
useiui io't3eriiiairj7'iira)necGi]g togeiiieir Ihe 
Tn augmenting the resources <^ the 
tion; butifthismetropdUa'di 

ihe taste for thej[>lea8ures of socie^, in dl thmr eTejnuio^ they 

would thus become losers in that scrupulmia liitognj^i that 

labor in solitude, that hardy inddpendencei wEi^ diatin- 

^ guishea their literary and philosophicAl eaieer; in short, they 

\. would change their meditative habits for an external vivadtf* 

h of which they would never acquire the grace and tho dexterity* 




Iir atudiriiif; tlio spirit ond cIiariutOT of a language, wo loam 
tlio philosopliicol hnlaiy of tlio opinions, innnnors, and hablla 
of nntiont; und tlio modiUcntions which livngunfto undorgooi 
must throw connidoralilo light on tlio progrou ofthonght; but 
>uch an analysia would nccciwnrily bo vory motnphyiical, and 
would roquiro a great deal of learning that ia almost alwaya 
wanting to ns in t)io uiid<;rHtnndiiig of foreign langiingco, and 
very frotjnently in llmt of our own. Wo must llicn coiiHno 
oorMWca to Uio gohcml imprcuion, produced bj tlio idiom 
of K poopio in it* oxiating itato. Tho Fronch, having boen 
spoken more generally than any other European dialect, ii 
tA once politbod by nio and ihorp-odgod for offoot. No Ian- 
gnogo u moTo dear and rapid, none indicntoi inoro lightly or 
«xpUina mom dearly what yoa wish to Bay. The Gorman ae- 
oommodatci itaolf mnoh Ioh uaiily to tho proclaion and rapidity 
of conTertaUon, By tho vory natnro of iti grammatical oou- 
■truction, the lotuio ia Tunally sot nndontood till tlio end of tho 
•ontooco. TTrni tihrplnaiwrn nf tat<rr"r""g,rN^tiiifl i^Wf^ 

•0 qa Mdy all th tf !■ "f '■■'^■'■■■■ilfthf hp i Ijj ^^l^jWirirt 
aawllcSttrirt & Get manT ! for the beyinidng a rfienteneca ^ 
BJ^ nothiBg WlHofal th a and: orety m an mart be left mgaK^ 

— luit^ Hl Ul^'^iEyho cawiw to 3j^^ 
"i w the p^ JoaoorgcBBng to Ihe bottmn of ^iiigi;. iVtoj^V 
liMleu' arnint' 

iiim|t$3,. . . 

' — "Tlie'palitenMa of tbe Gennant ia mora dnoere, but leai -n- . 
liad thu tlbai of the Frenoh ; it baa more oon^eration for 
tank, and won precaation in all dungo. In France, tliey flat- 
ter more tbaa they hnuor, and, ■• tihey pomeai the tit of 


cxprcflstng ovoty thing, they npproacU mnoh more wUUngly 
tlio inoHt dclicato subjccta. .XlU-Qo™**'^^ i^ lunguago tut 
J)riltli>tit la pootry, Tcry copUiaa la niotapbysics, but T017 p<i^2— 
tivo lu conrcrgation. Tho Freiicii Imigiiiigo, oa the ootitrary, 
~% truly rlcli oiilyTd thoaa tanii of oxprciiaioa which dcsignato 
tho Diost complicated relations of socioty, It Is poor and cir- 
cuiiiticril»d in all that Uopcnds on iinagiaatlon and philosophy.' 
Tho Qormanii aro moro afraid of giving pnin tlrnn doiirou of 
ptcn«ng. Tbonco it follows, that tlioy linvo, as fnr n* poisiblo, 
Bubjootod tlioir politoncm to rnlo ; nnd tlioir Inngaago, to bold 
in thoir books, in singularly onslavod in oonvorMtion, by kU th* 
forms with whioh It ii londod. 

I Tomombor hnvino; boon prosont, in Saxony, at t inotapliy^ 
ioal IcctuTO givon by a colcbralod philoiio[^or, who always 
<]uolod CaroD Loibnitz, and nuvor did ho siilTor liimwlf to 
bo led in tho ardor of hnrangiiing to siipprcM this litlo of 
baron, which aunrccly bolongud to t)io noino of a groat man, 
who diod nearly a oontury ago. 
, Hio Gonnan is bettor adapted for pootry than proM, and Iti 
• proso is bottor in writing than in BpenJdng ; It i* on inatranwnt 
which answers Tory well when one dosirei to doicribo or to 
nnlbld ovory thing ; bat wo cannot In Gorman, as in Freaoh, 
glide over the dilToront eubjocta that prosont thcmsolTOs. To 
endoavoi' to adapt Qcnoan phrases to tho train of Freneb coo- 
Tersation, is to strip them of oU grace and dignity. ^X^ejmot 
nerit of tho Germans i s that of filling op their tim^well [ tli«~~~-^ 

~ art oTtlnrTiaiEE iTio mal[irir pi ni~miBoiicod." 

Thoagh the meaning rf German periods is often not to be 
conght till the end, the constroction docs not always admit of 
a phrase behig terminated by its most (trilling eipresdon ; and 
yet thii is one of the great moans of producing effegt In eoo- 
Tersatlon, The Germans seldom nnderstand what we aJi 
iatumoU; it is tho mbstonce of tho thoaght itaeU;nottlH 
brilliancy commonlcatod to it, that is to be admired. 
Hie Germans imagine that there Is a sort of qnockery ia ft 

M KUUU VH fTAH. • omuHT. 

^ImllUiit ozpreuion, and prefer the alctract Mntimenv, bocanu 
■t u more (dhipoIoDa nnd npproachca ncaror to tho vciy cBionee 
of trnlli ; bat coovorution oaght to givo no troablo either in 
mdenUndiiig or ipoAlting. From the moment that tho uxh- 
ject <d diKonne ceases to bear on tho common intoreeta of life, 
and wo enter into the aphore of idoaa, conreiaatjon in Oerma- 
vj boconuM too mctapfayiicat ; thare ia not onoagh intermediat* . 
Mpteo botwoen tho rnlgar and tho anblime ; and jet it ia in that 
intermodiato apace that the art of eonvenation finds exerciae. 

The German langnage pououea a gajoty peculiar to itielf ; 
ndetj haa not render^ it timid, and good jnorala hare left it 
pare ; jct it ia a national gaje^, within reach of all cUases- of 
people. The gruteaqne aoond of the words, their antiquated 
natedS, commonicate aomethiog of the [Hctnresqne to ploa^ 
aoti7, from which the common people can derive amoaemeat 
eqn^l/ with thoae of the higher orders. The QermaaB are 
less restricted b their choice of expresgions than we are, be- 
canse their language, not haviDg been so frequently emplojed 
in the coDversatioQ of the great world, is not, like oors, com- 
posed of words which a mere accident, an application, or aa 
allusion may render ridiculoua ; of worde, in short, which hav- 
ing gone through all the advetitures of society, ore proscribed, 
nsjustly perhaps, but yet so that they can never again be ad- 
mitted. Anger is often expressed in German, but thoy have 
not made it the weapon of raillery, and tho words which they 
inalie nso of are still in all their force and all their directness 
of signification : this is au additional facility ; but, on the other 
baud, one can express with the French language a thousand 
nice observations, a thousand turns of address, of which the 
German is up to the present tune incapable. 

We should compare ourselves with ideas in German, vrith 
persons in French ; the German may assist ns in exploring, 
the French brings ns directly to the end ; the one should be 
nsed in painting nature, the other iu paintbg society, Goethe, 
in his romance of WiUelm Meuttr, malces a German woman 
ny that she perceives her lover wishes to abandon her because 
Iw wiitea to her in French. There are in fitot many phrases 

-KOBTHESN oxsiavr. OS 

in our huigaage by which we may ipoak without iitjing mf 
thing, by which we may give hopes withont promiaing^ and 
promiee withont bmding. The German ia leaa ileiiblei and it\ 
/ does well to remain so; for nothing inspires greater disgoal \ 
than their Teutonic tongue when it is penrerted to the porposea | 
of falsehood, of whaterer nature it may be. Ita prolix coo- / 
stmction, its multiplied consonants, its learned grammar, re* / 
fuse to sllow it any grace in suppleness ; and it may be said / 
to rise up in roluntary resistance to the intonUeii of him who / 
speaks it, from the moment that ho designa to employ it i^ 
betraying the interests of trutL . . 




Thb first impressions that are received on arriTing in the 
north of Oermany, above all in the middle of the winter, are 
extremely gloomy ; and I am not surprised that these inipres- 
sions have hindered most Frenchmen, who have been banished 
to this country, from observing it without prqudice. The 
frontier of the Rhine has something solemn in it. One fears, 
in crossing it, to hear this terrible sentence, — YavCare aui of 
France, It is in vain that the understanding would pass an 
impartial judgment on the land that has given us tnrth ; our 
affections never detach themselves from it ; and when We are 
forced to quit it, existence seems to bo torn up by the roots, 
and we become strangers to ourselves. The most simple hab- 
its as well as the most intimate relations, the most important 
interests as well as the most trifling pleasures, all once centered 
in our native country, and all now belong to it no more* We 
meet nobody who can speak to us of times past, nobody to at* 
test to us the identity of former days with those that are wea- 
ent ; our destiny begins again without the confldencis oi our 



«trly jrc&n being renewed : wo change our world without ex- 
pericnctDg ui^ change oT heart. Thus banisbment operates s> 
A scDtcDco of aelf-aarvWal ; our adieus, our separations — all 
Kcm like the raomeut of death itAelf, and yet we assist at them 
with all the eocrgiea of life full within us. 

I was, a!x years ago, upon the banlcs of the Rhine, waiting 
for tlio veascl that was to convey me to the opposite ahore; 
the weather was cold, the sky obscure, and all »ecmed to an- 
nonnco to mo toino fatal presage. When the soul is Tiolcntly 
distorbed by sorrow, wo can hardly perauade ourselves that 
nature herself is indifferent to it : men may be permitted to 
attribute some influence to their gricfa ; it is not pride, it ia 
confidence in the pity of bcaren. I was uneasy about my 
childien, tbongh they wcro not yet of an age to feel tlioso 
emotions of tho soul which cast terror npon all external 
objccta. My French servants grew impnticnt at German elng- 
giabDco, and were aurprised at not making tbemielres nndfli^ 
stood in the langnage, which they imagined to be the only one 
•dmitted in all cinlized countries. There waa an old German 
woman in the passage boat, ntting in a little cart, from whldi 
■he woold not alight eves to atm the rirer. " Ton are Teiy 
qdet," I nid to her, " Yes," she nnswend, " why should I 
inake a noise V l^wae simple words struck roe ; why, in 
trotb, shonld we make a noise f Bnt eren wen entire genera 
tkMU to pass through life hi dlence, still misery and death 
wonld not the leas await them, or be the less able to leadk 

On reaching the oppoiite shore, I hesfd tiu horns ot the 
postHiona, seeming by their lianh snd discordant tones to tn- 
noonce ft sad depwture for » sad tbode. Tbit earth was cor* 
«red with mow ; from the little windows, with which the 
hooBM were [uened, peeped the heads of Mnne hihrnUtants, 
dirtorfoed hj Uie sonnd of carrisge-wbeels in the nddst tt their 
monofamoos emidoTments ; n scrt <rf contiiranoe, fi>r moving - 
the ber at the tampOce, diqmass with the neoeoity of the 
bdlgatberer'a teaTing his boiMs, to reeeiTS the toll from trav- 
ellfln. AUli cakoUted fte tmaofaiU^; nad the Bun whQ.A 


thinks, and he whose existence is merely materiali tie alike in- 
sensible to all external distraction. 

Fields deserted, honscs blackened b j smoke, Gtothic chnrches; 
are all so manj preparatives for stories of ghosts and witchei. 
The commercial cities of Germany are large and well bnQt ; 
but they afford no idea of what constitutes the glory and inter* 
est of the conntiy — ^its literary and philosophical Bjpmt. Mer- 
cantile interests are enough to nnfbld the understanding of the 
French, and in France some amusing society may still be met 
with in a town merely commercial ; but tlie Germans, emi- 
nently capable of abstract studies, treat business, when they 
employ themselves about it, with so much method and heavi- 
ness, Uiat they seldom collect from it any general ideas what- 
ever. They carry into trade the honesty which distinguishea 
fhem; but they give themselves up so entirely to what they 
are about, that they seek in society nothing more than a jovial 
relaxation, and indulge themselves, now and then, in a few 
gross pleasantries, only to divert themselves. Such pleasant- 
ries overwhelm the French with sadness ; for they resign them- 
selves much more willingly to grave and monotonous dulne« 
than to that witty sort of dulness which comes, slowly and 
fiuniliarly, clapping its paws on your shoulder. 

The Germans have great universality of spirit in literature 
and in philosophy, but none whatever in business. They 
always consider it partially, and employ themselves with it in 
a manner almost mechanical. It is the contrary in France ; 
the spirit of business is there much more enlarged, and univer- 
sality is admitted neither in literature nor in philosophy. If 
a learned man were a poet, or a poet learned, he would become* 
suspected among us, both by learned men and poets ; but it li- 
no rare thing to meet, in the most simple merchant, with lumi* 
nous perceptions on the political and militaiy interesta of his 
country. Thence it follows, that in France there are many 
men of wit, and a smaller number ct thinkers, iln rraaog^ 
thqr study men ; in Germany, books. Ordinary Ikcolties are 
sumdent^ to interest one in speaking of men, but it req[oiiei 
ahnost genius itself to discover a soul iadan inqimtad in boolo* 

xAnAMB in tXAttfi dmuvT. 

OmuMtj «Hi ioAsmt only fliote wlio emplojr ihmamifti about 
pMl •fwti Aiid alMtnet ideal. The prMeiit and the Mil b«- 
loog to timoB, and, until a neir orto of tluiiga thaU aiiae^ 
aha doea aoi q^ear diapoaed to raKranee them. 

I timJg I am aot endeavoring to eopeeal the ineopf^^ 
efGennaaj. Sren tfaoae mall towna of the norUii wheio wa 
meet wHk men of aoeh kftf eonoepCion% often preaent no kind 
of aaraaament— no theatre^ little aocietf ; time iUla drop hj 
drop^ and no aoond distoifaa the rafleetiona of aolitnde. The 
amdleat towna in England partake itf the ehanuster of a free 
States in aending their depotiea to treat of the intereata of the 
nalioo. The amaller towna of Fhmee bear aome analogy to 
the oq^ital, the oentie of ao many wondera. Thoae of Italy 
fie|oiee in the bri|^t aky and the Una arte, which ahed their 
nja over all the eonntry. In the north of Germany there ia 
no lepretentative govemmenti no great metropcdia; and the 
aeverity of the dimatCi the mediocri^ of fortune, and the 
■erionanem of character, would combine to render existence 
very irksome, if the force of thought had not set itself free 
from all these insipid and narrowing circumstances. Hie Ger- 
mans have found tiie means of creating to themselves a repub- 
lic of letters, at once animated and independent They have 
supplied the mterests of events by the interest of ideas. They 
can do without a centre, because all tend to the same objecti 
and their imagination multiplies the small number ct beantiea 
which art and nature are able to afford them. 

Tlie citizens of this ideal republic, disengaged for the meet 
part from all sort of connection either vridi public or privata 
boainess, work in the dark like miners; and, placed like them 
in the niidst of buried treasures, they silently dig out the in- 
tellectaal riehea of the human neST 

mJLGKY., 97 

. * • • 


Sivcx the Reformation, the princes of the honae ct Saxony 
have always granted to letters the most noble of protectioDfli 
— ^independence. It may be said without fear, that in no 
coontiy of the earth does there exist snch general xnstmetion 
as in Saxony, and in the north of Germany. It is there that 
Protestantism had its birth, and the spirit of inquiry has there 
maintained itself ever since in full vigor. 

Daring the last century the electors of Saxony have been 
Catholics; and, though they have remained faithful to the 
oath, which obliged them to respect the worship of their sub- 
jects, this difference of religion between prince and people has 
given less of political unity to the State. The electors, kings 
of Poland, were more attached to the arts than to literaturei 
to which, though they did not molest it, they were strangen. 
Music is generally cultivated throughout Saxony ; in the gal- 
lery of Dresden are collected together ehrfiHTceuvre for the 
imitation of artists. The face of nature, in the neighboiliood 
of the capital, is extremely picturesque, but society does not 
afford there higher pleasures than in the rest of Germany; the 
elegance of a court is wanting— *its ceremoniousness only finds 
an easy establishment 

From the quantity of works that are sold at Leipdc, we may 
judge of the number of readers of German publications; arti- 
sans of all classes, even stone-cutters, are often to be seen, rest*- 
ing from their labors, with a book in their hands. It cannot 
be imagined in France to what a degree knowledge is diffused 
over Germany. I have seen innkeepers and tumpikemen wall 
versed in French literature. In Uie veiy villages, we sieet 
with professors of Greek and Latin, niereisnotasuiall^ovtf 

aeeat Bbniy; tad ftlmort eftiy plaoe boMto of 
, iMiffdiy cf lemaik fbr tlieir tale&ts w infbrmar 
Hatu It m w«ra to Mt oqimItm dxwt oomptfiaft in this 
-tmgmUt Iho Ikondi pmrinoM wHh Gennaiij, we aboold be 
apt to bdievo that the two aaftaooa were throe oeatoriee die- 
font ikooi oaeh other. Parn^ oaitiag in Hs boeom the whole 
iowar of die empire^ takes fiom the remainder ofoiy aort of 

Ikaid and KoCaehiie hate eompoeed two Tory prettf pieoeii 
both eBtided Tk$ Oatmiry Shmm. Pieaid repreaeats the pfo* 
^indab innnaianflj aping Pariaian maaneni Mid Kotaehne'the 
eitiaaBa of Ua Ittde eommonttj delighted with and pimid of 
the phee thej iiihabit» which thejbeUere to be incomparable.' 
TIm diftrait natnra of the ridienle girea a good idea of the 
di fl e re n ce of naaaera. In Germany, OTorf reaidence ia an 
eaapire to ita inhaUtant; hia imagination, hia atndiea, or per- 
ha^ hia mere good-netniei aggrandise it before hia ejea; 
ererjbodjknowa how to make the beat of himself in hia Uttle* 
circle. The importance thej attach to every thing afibrda 
aoatter of pleasantly ; bat thia very importance seta a value 
upon email reaoorcea. In Fhmce, nobody ia interested out of 
Paria; and with reason, for Paris is all France ; and one who 
haa Hved only in the countiy can not have the alightest notion 
of that which characterizes this illnstrions nation. 

Hie diatingnished men of Germany, not being brought to- 
gether in the aame place, seldom see each other, and commu- 
Bicate only by writmg; each one makes his own road, and ia 
oontinually diacovering new districts in the vaat region of an« 
tiqnity, metaphysics, and science. What ia called atudy in 
Germany ia Uuly admirable: fifteen honra a day of aolitudo 
and labor, for aeveral yeara in aocceaaion, appear to them a 
natoral mode of eiiatence ; the veiy ttmui 6t aociety givea 
animation to a life of retirement 

The moat nnboonded freedom of the press existed in 8az« 

• Plottd to a edibtMd lrMi^ Kolastaa a adateaksd Ckiaum, wxite 

' 8AX0KT. 99' 

<my ; bat the gorernment was not in any manner endangered 
hj it» because the minds of literary men did not ton towards 
the examination of political institutions; solitade tends to de- 
liver men np to abstract speculations or to poetry : one most 
live in the rery focus of human passions, to feel the desire of 
employing and directing them to one*s own purposes. Tho 
Qennan writers occupied themselves only with theoretical doo* 
trinesy with erudition, and literary and philosophical research; 
and the powerful of this world have nothing to apprehend from 
such studies. Besides, although the government of Saxony 
was not free by right, that is, representation^ yet it was tii^ 
tually free through the habits of the nation, and the modera- 
tion of its princes. 

The honesty of the inhabitants was such, that a proprietor 
at Leipsic having fixed on an apple-tree (which he had planted 
on the borders of the public walk) a notice, desiring that peo- 
ple would not gather the fruit, not a single apple was stolen 
f^m it for ten years. I have seen this apple-tree with a feel- 
ing of respect; had it been the tree of the Hesperides, they 
would no more have touched its golden fruit than its blossoms. 

Saxony was profoundly tranquil; they sometimes made a 
noise there about certain ideas, but without ever thinking of 
applying them. One would have said that thought and action 
were made to have no reference to each other, and that truth, 
among the Germans, resembled the statue of Hennes, without 
hands to seize or feet to advance. Tet is there nothing so 
respectable as these peaceful triumphs of reflection, which con- 
tinually occupied isolated men, without fortune, without power, 
and connected together only by worship and thought 

In France, men never occupied themselves about abstract 
truths, except in their relation to practice. To perfect the art 
of government, to encourage population by a wise political 
economy — such were the objects of philosophical labor, espo- 
cislly in the last century. This mode of employing time is 
also veiy respectable ; but, in the scale of reflection, the dig^ 
nity of the human race is of greater importance than its bap- 
pmeas, and, still more, than its increase : to multiply hnmaa 




birtha witbont ennobling the dcstby of man, ia only to prepara 
k more samptaons banquet for deftth. 

Tbe litemy towns of Saxony an those in which the moet 
besBTolence and umplicity predominate. EverTwhere dse, 
literetnro luu been considered as the appendage of luxury ; ia 
GcrmAny, it aeema to cicludc it The tAstes which it engen- 
der* prodace a sort of candor and timidity favorable to the 
love of domestic life ; not that the vanity of autbonhip ia with- 
oat s very marked character among the Germans, but it doca 
not atlach itself to the triumph of society. The most incon- 
aiderable writer looks to posterity for bis reward ; and, unfold- 
ing himself at bin ease in the space of bouodlcM meditations, 
be ia leM in conflict with other men, aad leas embittered against 
them. Still, thejre^i9.lQJLwi!i!LajS2ar8tion in Saiony between 
men of letleraand stal£aiii£ii.Jajtllow the dlsphiyof any true 
pBBlit BpinX T>oin this separation it results, that anumg the 
—fiirt-tiiCTe is too much ignorance of affairs to permit them any 
. «cendency over the nation, and that the latter pride them- 
selves in A aort of docile Machiavcliam, wbieh smiles at all 
gfeneroas feelings, as at the simplicity of a child, and seems to 
— indicate to them, that they are not fit for tbia world. 


Or bU tbfl Gemuui principalitiea, tb«ra ia none that makes 
u feel moTe than Weimar the advantagea of » small Sute, 
vlien iti lOTeraign ia a man of strong understanding, and ii 
c^Mbla of endeavoring to please all orders of bia sabjeota, 
vhbont losing any thing in their obedienoeb Such a State ia 
aa a private aocie^, where all the memben are connected to- 
gether hy intiinata relationi. Ue DaeheiB Loniaa of San 
Watmat ia the tma model of a woman deetaned b; nature to 


the mott illnstrioos rank; withoat pretemioo, as wiUioiil 
wea]m«M| she inspiresy in the same degree^ oonfidenea and 
respect; an d th e h er o iett olJjj^^^r^iQfu^^fgJ^ei^mA 
hsst sool igthnnt. JsViiig from it aaj t^'ng ofher sei^asw * 
neesT- Tbe mUitaiy talents of the duke are murertaUy 
"qpeetedi and his lively and reflectiye conversation eonti 
brings to onr recollection^ that he was formed hy the grant 
Frederick. It is by his own and his mothez'a reputation 
that the most distinguished men of learning have been at^ 
tracted to Weimar. Oermanji for the first time^ possessed 
a literary metropolb; but as this metropolb waa^ at thn 
same time, only an inconsiderable town, its ascendenqf waa 
merely that of superior enlightenment ; for fashion, which im- 
poses uniformity in all things, could not emanate from so nan* 
row a circle. 

Herder was just dead when I arrived at Weimar; bnt Win- 
land, Goethe, and Schiller, were still theie. I shall paint each 
of these men separately in the following section ; I shall paint 
them, above all, by ^eir works; for their writings are thn 
perfect resemblances of their character and conversation, lliia 
very rare concordance is a proof of sincerity : when the first 
object in writing is to produce an effect upon others, a man 
never displays himself to them, such as he is in reali^ ; but 
when he writes to satisfy an internal inspiration, which haa 
obtained possession of the soul, he discovers by his woiks^ 
even without intending it» the very slightest shades of his man- 
ner of thinking and acting. 

The residence of country towns has always appeared to mn 
very irksome. The understanding of the men is narrowed, the 
heart of the women frozen, there ; people live so much in each 
other's presence, that they are oppressed by their equals; it ia 
no longer that distant opinion, the reverberation of which ani* 
mates you from afrir, like the report of gloiy ; it is a minntn 
inspection of all the actions of your life, an observation of isveij 
detail, which prevents the general character from being oom* 
prehended; and the more you have of independence and eln> 
vation, the less able yon are to breathe amid so many litda 


103 MA PAw; DE btael'b oebuakt. 

impcdimciiU. Tbis painful conBtraiot did not exist at Weimar ; 
it was rather * largo palace than a little totrn ; a select circle 
made its interest consist in the discussion of each now produo* 
tioD of art. Women, the amiable disciples of aomo saperior 
men, were constantly spcaldng of tho nevr litcraiy works, as of 
the most important public erenla. They called to themsclvca 
tbe whole universe by reading and study; they freed them- 
aelrca, by the euUi^emcnt of tho mind, from the rcstraiot of 
circumstances; they forgot the private anecdotes of each indi- 
ndoal, in habitually reflecting t^^ther on those great' que»- 
tioDS, which inflaence tho destiny common to all alike. And 
in this society there were none of those provincial wonders, 
irbo so eauly mistake contempt for grace, and affectatioa for 

' " On a dnt aoqminMiQWi 'Waltniu •ocoia mort lik« » viUtgo bonloiia( 
• park, tluBaeaplUlwith a wsrt, ud hiTlns all oaartl; environmenta. 
ItUieqnlM,Mitnipla; and although *nal«ntbltj*rdiito«tnra, has nont 
«f tlia plctarefqaeiiAn wliloh dcllffhtj tho eje In moat old Oormati oIUm, 
Tb« st«tM^oloTod, liRbt-tirovn, sad iij)|i]s-RTwin hoaw* Iibvb lilitli-iwiked 
alMitinjt rmfa, but d« i^nilnt tfblnii, no enprlM* of uchlteotnral Un^, nana 
of lli*tDlniElln|[afv*ried«t]'l««i>]ilohclH«]ioraohUTn Ilia travelltr. Ona 
iMnu Xa love iti qnlat *lmi>1a itrooU, and plconiint path*, Itt tlicnlrolbr 
tk» almple actora moTing sokkm tho »c«na; bat ona mnat live thoro soma 
tliM to dUcovar It* diBnn. Tbo aaptot tt prcnontod vhon Oootbo arrivod, 
was of ooniM varj diflbroni from that prcrantod now ; but b; dlllgonl 
laqnli; wo ma^ Ret aomo rottftli imago ot tho pinoo natorod. Flnit bo it 
BOImI that tho dty walla wora atlU oroct ; RBtoa and poftouUla still apoka 
of dijrs of warfare. Witliln iLun walls wore six or Mvon hundred liouica, 
Botmoro; moat of them voiyandonl. UodarthoMivora wore about a«VM 
tboiuand Inhabttonto-^r llio moit part not band«om«. The dtj sotoa 
wars (trictl^ (purdod. No one oonid put through tlion) lb cut or oai^ 
ilaC* without iMvlagbla name in tha lontlnel'aboolc; avon Ooatbe, tnlo- 
liUr and fkvorite, oonld Dot eaeape this tircaomo formality, at wa ga^or 
ftora ona of Us lottora to Uis 7iu von Stoia, dIrooUng bar to go oat alone, 
■nd naat Un bsfond tlM gataa, last lliair salt togethorthenUbakBOWB. 
Paripf Snodar isrrlea a ebaia was thrown aaraaa Iha atreota loading t« 
tba ohorch t« bar oat all pasaongoia,— • pnetioo to thia da; pattlally t^ 
ttlDadt tha«lulnUft*t«a«l,bnttht paaaongenstopovsrltwlUioatool^ 
nsor. Thtra was little aafoty at Bight iBthoaotilant atraeta I Ibr If ron 
wata in ae great dangar ft«mnaraadoia,}raawarsliieonaUnt dangarof 
Iwaehlwg a Unb In soma hola or otbar; tha Idea of Ughtlag aliaota not 
havlBfpNeanledlteeiriothaThulBgUD. In tha rear lUS, Iha ttroata «f 
Z<attdaav«nlntll|fataiwlthbaiptt aad Oamav, In meat tUop a 

wsniAB. 108 

In the same principality, in the immediate neighbodiood of 
thia fint literary reonion of Germany, was Jena, one of fht 
meet remarkable centres of science. Thns, in a Teiy nanow 

\ • 

•entnrx behind England, bad not jet ventared on tbat ezptrimcnt. If la 
tbU 1864, Weimar ii etill Innocent of gas, and perplexea its Inhahltonts 
with the dim obseorit j of an occasional oil-lamp idung on a totd seross the 
streets, we maj imagine that in 1776 thej had not STsa sdrsaosd so te* 
And oar snpposiUon is exact. . • . . 

** Saze-Weimar has no trade, no mannfaotnres, no animation of eoiBBMr- 
cial, poliUoal, or even theological activitj. This part of Saionj, be U rs- 
membored, was the homo and shelter of Protestantism In its birth. Onl^ 
a few miles fh>m Weimar stands the Wartbnrg, where Lnther, In the dls- 
gniso of Squire Geoige, lived in safistj, translating the Bible, sad hnxUnf 
his inkstand at the head of Satan, like a rongh-handod disputant as hs was. 
In the market-place of Weimar stand, to tiiis daj, two honset from the 
windows of which Totsol advertised his Indnlgences, and Lnther, in flsrj , 
indignation, Eliminated against them. Those records of religioas atmggle 
still remain, bat are no longer stiggoiUons for tho oontinaanoe of the strUb. 
The firo is burnt oat; and porhiips in no oitj of Soropo is theology eo 
placid, polomlcs so ontlrolj at rest Tho Wartbui^g still rears Its pte- 
tarosquo omlncneo over the lovolj Tliuringian valloya, and Luthei's room 
is visited bj thonsands of pilgrims ; bnt in this very pahioo of the Wait- 
burg, bcaidos tho room where Luthor stnigglod wlUi Satan, the vialtors 
are shown tho Banqueting Hall of the Minnosingors, whoro poet chsllsagod 
poet, and the SUnQtrkritg^ or Minstrels* Gontoat, was oolebratod. Tho son* 
tnuit maj bo carrlod fUrthor. It roaj bo taken as a symbol of tho Intel* 
loctnol condition of Saxo-Woimar, that while tho rtUm of Lnther srs slm* 
ply proservod, the Minstrel Hall la now being restored in mors than lis 
pristine splendor. Lutheran theology is ommbllng awaj, jnst sa tiie 
famous Mfpoi has disappeared beneath the gradnal scrapliigs of visitors^ 
penknives ; but the Minstrels/ of which tlio Qonnans are so proad| dsUy 
receives iVosh honor and adulation. Nor is tills adulation a mors rsvivsL 
Every year the Wartburg saw assembled tho members of that nnmsrona 
family (the Bschs) which, driven from Ilungary in the early psiiod of rs- 
fbrm, had settled in Saxony, and had given, besides the great John Bsbss- 
ilan Bach, so many noble musicians to the world. Too numsroos togsla 
a livelihood in one city, the Baohs agreed to meet every year st ths Wait* 
burg. This oustom, which was continued till the close of ths slghtssBtli 
oentury, not only presented the sbignUir spectacle of one frmlly oooslstlaf 
of no loss than a hundred and twenty musicians, but was also ths oeesslott 
of musical entertainments such as were never heard bolbre. They bsgaa 
by religious 'hymns, sung In ehorus; tliey then took for their thsms soom 
|H>palar song, oomlo or lloentlotts, varying it by ths ImprovissUoa of toiw^ 
live, or six parts ; those improvisations were named QwMd»^ sad srs eoB* 
sldertd by many writers to havo been tho origin of Qsnusa epsia.*WQw 
H. Lswss' Zi^# ^ (MAS, VOL L pp. I11-S14)-JRI. 


wAnAine m gTAXL's OKSMAVT. 

wptnodf theva MOiied to be ooUeetod together all the a e t onkh fa ig 
l^ts of the hmBMi nndentandiiig. - 

itlxJDPpt nwehe at W eiiatf b;. Jhe 

[eas need of ootwaMhSiSictioiit; 

these dittnietioiii aerre to lighten the boiden of ezistenee» but 
often dispene its poweiBp Li this conntiy residencei ealled a 
eitjy they led n iq^nlar, occnpiedy end serioas life; one might 
sometunea fed weaiy of it| bat the mind was nerer degraded 
bj fiitile and Tolgar interests; and if pleasores were wanting^ 
the decay of feeoltiea was at kast nerer pereeiTed* 

The only fauraij of the prince is a delicioas garden; and 
this popular enjoymenti which he shares in common with all 
the inhabitants of the place, is a possession on which he is cmi* 
grstnlated bj aU. The stage, of which I shall qieak in the 
aecond drrision of my worl^ is managed by the greatest poet 
in Germany, Goethe ;* and this amnscment interests all people 
saflSciently to preserve them from those assemblies, which an- 
swer no other end than to bring concealed ennui to light 
Weimar was called the Athens of Germany ; and it was, in 

s **It WM in 1790, that the Weimar Theatre was robuUt and reopened. 
Goethe undertook the direction with powers more absolnte than an j direo- 
tor erer had ; for he was independent oven of suooess. The court paid aU 
expenses, and the stage was left free for him to make experiments upon. 
He made them, and thej all failed. .... Of him Edward Devriont, in 
his excellent historj of the Gorman stage (GisekiehU dsr d€ut$ch4m Sehaut' 
fid-JCwui)^ sajs: * He sat in the centre of the pit; hia powerful glance 
goremed and directed the circle around him, and bridled the dissatisfied or 
nentraL On one occasion, when the Jena students, whose arbitrary Judg- 
ment was very unseasonable to him, expressed their opinion too tumid- 
toonsl J, he rose, commended silence, and threatened to hare the disturbers 
turned out bj the hussars on guard. A similar scone took place in IBOS, 
on the representstion of Fr. Schlegel's Alarcot^ which appeared to the pub- 
lio too daring an attempt, and the approbation given bj the lojal pert/ 
proToked a loud laugh of opposition. Goethe it>se and called out with a 
▼oice of thunder, * Let no one laugh P At last he went so ikr aa for some 
tinie to forbid anj audible expression on the part of the pnbUe, whether of 
•pproral or disi^roTaL He would suffer no kind of disturbance in what 
Jm held to be auitable. Orer eritidsm he kept a tight rein ; heving thai 
BMt i c h e r was writing aa essaj on his direction of the theatre, he dedared^ 
that if it appeared, he would resign his poet; and BStticher left the aitleU 
nBptiBted.'*-<I<ewea^ Sio^rmpk^ if ^mOs, toL IL pp. S4S-S46.)-A 

rBussiA. 105 

reality, the only place where the fine arts insjured a national 
interest, which served for a bond of fraternal union among di^ 
ferent ranks of society. A liberal coart habitoally ionght the 
acqnaintance of men of letters ; and literature gained oonaid- 
erably in the influence of good taste which presided there. A 
judgment might be formed, from this little circle, of the good 
effect which might be produced throughout Germany bj sack 
a mixture, if generally adopted. 



Lf order to be acquainted with Prussia, you must study the 
character of Frederick II. A man created this empire which 
nature had not {avored, which became a power only because a 
warrior was its master. In Frederick tiie Second there aro 
two very distinct persons — a German by nature, and a IVench- 
man by education. All that the German did in a German 
kingdom has left durable traces ; all that the Frenchman at- 
tempted has failed of producing fruit 

Frederick the Second was fashioned by the French phfloao- 
phy of the eighteenth century ; this philosophy does injury to 
nations, when it dries up in them the source of enthusiasm; 
but where there exists such a thing as an absolute monarch, it 
is to be wished that liberal principles may temper in him the 
action of despotism. Frederick introduced into the north of 
Germany the liberty of thinking ; the Reformation had already 
introduced there the spirit of inquiry, though not of toleratioii ; 
and, by a singular contradiction, inquiry was only permitted ia 
imperiously prescribing, by anticipation, the residt of that in* 
quiry. Fin^lerick caused to be held in honor the liberty of 
speaJdng and writing, not only by means of those poignant and 
witty pleasantries, which have so much effect on men whta 
proceeding from tfie lips of a king ; but also^ still mors power* 

xuMm M wnwih oBDUvr. 

pMlAml thwa who KUIIad 
or lij p«Uiealioa» attd bodiqplqr^ift 
ik pUloniiliy whoN qiirH 1m pro<^^ 
M oite aad M oeoMiBy ia the adniiiistnlioa 
ik lirtefBal itrangdi oT Fhi«ift» in qpiU 
rfJhMi— Hiw d f M rtifMu Tharo wm never a Idng wlio 
ifkldaeMdi ehvlieilj in Ui pritale lif^ and efen in Ui 
Mi: U ftoi^f Umeeir bonnd te ipaia as madi as poHible 
Amddk flf Ue en^eelik Hs entertained en aU sabjeeta a 
MtifjHliea^wUdiihenurfMtanea or Us Toadi and the 
Mri^ifUairfherhadengimTedenhiBhaart TUifMling 
kfnhfsihaseatiareefaaaeonfBem^aTirtaea; for thqr 
ii|nnl«mld nther he eataemed genereoa than jartibe- 
Mi Jntfee enppeeaa aone aovi ef e^oal fclatkm with ethers. 
iMsridk had nndend the eoorts ef jaatiee so iadependenti 
HW^ Ua whale Ub^ and wider the reign of hia aneeea- 
>^ftqrki*«lMen often aeen to decide in fiiTorofthe aolgeei 
^ the aov«TC%a, hi amtarehting to poUtieal interests. It 
l^tnn thai it would be aloiost impossible to introduce injustice 
ttioi German tribonaL Tho Germans are well enough dis- 
paed to make themsdrcs systems for abandoning politics to 
alitiiij power; bnt in questions of jurisprudence or odminis- 
tntioa, yen cannot get into their hoods any principles but those 
of jmieei Their Teiy qnrit of method^ to say nothing of their 
qrif^tneM of heart, aecurea equity by the establishment of 
Oder in aO things Neferthelcss, Frederick dcserrcs praise 
6r Us intqpity in the internal goromment of his country ; and 
ii one of Us best titles to the admiration of posterity. 
Frederiek did not possess a feeling heart, but he had good- 
ef disposition ; and qualities of a unirerHd nature aie 
iboss which aie meat auitaUe to sorereigns. NererthelosSi 
tUs goodness of Frederick's was as dangerous as that of the 
lisn, and one Ml the tofen of power in tiie midst of the most 
annsUo gmee and coquetry of spirit Men of independent 
fharantofa eonldy with diflSeulty, aubmit themselYes to the free- 
dam wUdi this maater Cuieied he gafe them, to the familiarity 
wUsk he ioMgined that he permitted them; and, enn in their 

PBUBSU. 107 

•dmintion of him, tho/ felt tlutt thoj bratthod mora frody at 
a disUnco. 

JErof^jodiiKgro^it^ mitfertnne y»\tih»itjj^ h>dnH tnffiolent 

respect for religion or morale. Hie tastes were OTsical. Not* 

witbstaSdingllie love of glory had giren an elevation to hia ideasp 

his licentious mode of expressing himself on the most saored 

subjects was the cause that his very virtues fidled of inspiring 

confidence ; they were felt and approved, yet they were believed 

to be the virtues of calculation. Every thing in Frederick ap» 

pcared necessarily to imply a political tendency; thna, tha 

good that he did ameliorated the state of the country, but did 

not improve the morality of the nation. He affected nnbeliel( 

and m ade a^naojdgeqtoffo' Palo virtue ; and nothing was so mi- 

sui{aUe to thoGermancfearocter as this manner of thinking. 

""^ Frederick, in sotting his subjects free from what ho called their 

^ prejudices, extinguished in them the spirit of patriotism; for, 

^ to attach inhabitants to countries naturally gloomy and barrenf 

^ they must be governed by opinions and principles of groat 

severity. In those sandy regions, where tiie ewrth prodncea 

^ nothing but firs and heaths, man*s strength consists in his soul ; 

. *and if you take from him that which constitutes the life of thia 

soul, his religious feelings, he will no longer feel aiqr thing bat 

disgust for his melancholy country. 

Frederick's inclination for war may be excused by great po- 
litical motives. His kingdom, such as he received it from hia 
father, could not have held together; and it was almost for Its 
preservation that he aggrandized it He had two millions and 
a half of subjects when he ascended the throne, and left aix 
millions at his death. 

The need he had of an army prevented him from eneovr- 
aging in the nation a public spirit of imposing energy and 
unity. The government of Frederick was founded on militaij 
strength and civil justice: he reconciled them to each otliar 
by his wisdom ; but it was difficult to combine two spirits of • 
nature so opposite. Frederick wished his soldiers to be 
military machines, blindly actuated, and his sntrjeels to be 
lightened eitiaens, capable of patriotism. Ha did Mt astabliah 


li «» tovM y FhMb MiMiidai7 MtboAii^ nmklpdUM 
wmkmmiMittimMtQt<kamMf,]m Uw faomdiateM- 
tioaef ft*ara«3rMn{M iBi(^ b« impedad bjrtiMm; wd 
|«t W nM ^t tbm ihoald U «)wi^ «f lb* q^ of Ub- 
mtj h Ui M^iin tft auln obadiettM ^pttr Tolimtujr. Ht 
«U«d At nffitirf rtita to bo the flnt fi( an, rima it «M tlwt 
■wUekwrnmotkitaommrjioiSm; bat lie vvmUl ban d«nnd 
Oit Iba ciril rtsto aS^i wuffoA HmU ooUatanDr whh tba 
wOimj. n|fcdniok,i»ihott,dm«dtoawataT«7wharawitb 
a upl> a rt% M to cMomitar abataeUi aowbanb 

• Iks wtndaiftil ainalgMBatioa of all bIimm of aoda^ b 
hvdlr to ba obtajned bat tbion^ tba isflaaBea flf a ajrtam fif 

' laWB tba Mnw far aU. AmanmajoonabiBaoppoKtodanaBl^ 
aaaatomaka tbam praoaed togatbcr ia tba aama diiaotie^ 
''brtatUi deatb Amj an lUaaBHad.*" The awe&deitoj ob- 
taiaedlrf IMetkl^aDdntppMted bjr tba iriadon of biino- 
ceMon, waa itiU nasifested for a time ; but i& Pnuda there 
wore alvayi to be petceived two distiDct natiooi, badly nnited 
together to fonn an endro one ; the annj, aod the ciril atate. 
^e pngndiees of nobility •absiited at the ume time witli Ub- 
•ral opiniou of the meet decided itamp. In short, the figure 
of Pronia pteietited itaelf, like that of Janni, under a double 
face — the one military, the other philowphicaL 

One of the greatest erron committed by Frederic^ waa that 
of lending himelf to the partition of Fobmd. Silesia had been 
aoqniiad by the force of amu; Poland waa a Uachiareliaa 
eonqnest, ** and it eonid never be hoped that subjects, so got 
by dight of band, would be Ikithfiil to the jaggler who callad 
biiDself their wvereign."' Bende^ the Oermans and SclaTO- 
niaiia can nerar be nnited by indiuolnble tica; and, when a 
nation adsaita alien enemies into its bosom, aa natual snl^eeta, 
dta does herself almost aa mnch mjuy as in receiving them 
far maatMs; for the political body then no longer letuns that 
bead of onion, which penonifieo tba Stato^ and ctmstitataa 
patriolie aantiment 

FBU88IA. 109 

Tlicse obserrationB retpocting Pnuaia, aD bear npcm the 
means which she possessed of maintainiiig and defending her- 
self; for there was nothing in her internal gOTemment thai 
was prejudicial to her independence, or her seeoritj; in no 
country of Europe was knowledge held in higher honoTi in 
none waa liberty, at least in fact, if not bj law, more scrnpo- 
louslj respected. I did not meet| throughout Prussiai with 
any individual that complained of arbitrary acts in the govem- 
mcnt| and yet there would not hare been the least danger in 
complaining of them ; but when, in a social state, happiness 
itself is only what may be called a fortunate acddent, when it 
is not founded on durable institutions which secure to the hn- 
man race its force and its dignity, patriotism haa litUe perae- 
▼erance, and men easily abandon to chance the advantagea 
which are believed to be owing to chance alone. Frederick 11, 
one of the noblest gifts of that chance which seemed to watch 
over the destiny of Prussia, had known how to make himself 
sincerely beloved in his countiy; and, since he is no more, 
they still cherish his memory aa if he were still alive. The 
fate of Prussia, however, has but too well taught us what is 
the real influence even of a great man, who, during his reig^, 
has not disinterestedly labored to make his country independ- 
ent of hii personal services : the entire nation confidentiy re- 
lied on its sovereign for its very principle of existence, and it 
seemed as if that nation itself must come to an end with him. 

Frederick II would have wished to confine all the literature 
of his dominions to French literature. He set no value on that 
of Germany. Doubtless it was, during his time, by many de- 
grees short of having attained its present distinction ; yet a 
German prince ought to encourage every thing German. 
Frederick formed the project of rendering Berlin in some re- 
spects similar to Paris, and flattered himself with having found 
among the French refugees some writers sufficiently distin- 
guished to create a French world of literature. Such a hope 
was necessarily to be deceived ; factitious culture never proa- 
pers ;- some individuals may struggle against the difficultiea of 
nature, but the man always follows the bent she gives theaa. 


Frederick d!d a real injar^ to his country hy proclaJming Iiis 
contempt for the geniua of tbe Qcrniaiu. It hiks thc&ce result- 
«d that the Gennanic body haa often conceived unjust suspi- 
cions a^nst Prussia hereclt 

Many Gcnnao writers, of deserved celebrity, made them- 
■e]ve« knoiTD towards the end of Frederick's reign ; but the 
onfaTorable opinion, wbich this great monarch had imbibed in 
his yonth against the li(«ratnre of his country, was never ef- 
faced; and, K few yearo before his death, he composed a little 
work, in which he proposed, among other changes, to add a 
Towel at the end of every verb, to Boften the Teutonic dialect. 
This German, in an Italian mask, would produce the moat 
comic effect in the world; bnt no monarch, even in the East, 
possesses so much power as to influence in this manner, not 
the sense, bnt the sound of every word that shall be pronounced 
throughout his dominionii. 

Klopatock has nohty reproached Frederick with his baring 
n^e^ed the Gennan mnses, who, unknown to him, essayed 
to proclaim hia glory. Frederick did not at ^1 dirino the real 
character of the Germans in literstnre and philosophy. He 
did not ^ve them credit for being invontors. Be wished to 
discipline men of letton as he did hii armies. "We moat 
cooform onnelvea," sud he, in bad Gorman, in his instmctiona 
to the Academy, " to the method of Boerhaave in medicine, to 
thatof Locke in metaphysics, and that of Thomasioa in natnral 
luatory." His instructions were not followed. He never 
donhted that, of all men, the Germans were thoM who were 
leaat capable of being anbjected to th« routine of letters and 
pbiloMphy : nothing announced in them that boldnett which 
lli^ have dnee displayed in the field of abatraetion.' 

* "Thna Ike two Genu Zmpann, Frila ^'Ndeiiok the Gnat] and 
ird^oDf [OeMha], Iwld M ipiritDal eooKCMs; parity no go«d tesoll 
sesUhBVabMnalkludbrUwirmaelliig. Tstthqrwen.MdlilnhUewn 
^b*n,tht«nnwt])otmtaMnthMirel|ninf. FriUdldnMdlrasdrse- 
ite ih» liUntDia at Us eoontij, bet hit 4aiimf ialoMiM Iih ben iaH- 
•Med hj SiUpolmL Ha awoke tb* OeimiBS Iroci (bdr tittp lif the 
nata««f dnM; tkdei^wlMttlikidths«lan(irMM«rth«'«*UsH 



Frederick oonaidered his sabjecto as •timDger% And tl&e 
Frenchmen of genius as his coontrTineiL Nothingi it most h% 
confessed, is more nstnral than that he shoold hare kt h hn ae lf 
be seduced bj whatever was brilliant and solid in the FlraBoh 
writers €i this epoch ; ncTcrtheless, Frederick would hmm con- 
tribnted still more effectoallj to the glorj of his eoimtiji if he 
had understood and dereloped the fiM^ulties peculiar to the nar 
tion he goremed. But how resist the influence of his timaal 
and where is the man, whose genius itself b not| in many fo- 
spectsi the work of the age he Utcs in I 



Bkrldc IB a large city, with rety broad streetSi perfectlj 
straight, the houses handsome, and the general appearance 
regular; but, as it has been but lately rebuilt, it displays no 
traces of ancient times. Not one Gothic monument remaina 
amid its modem habitations ; and nothing ct the antique in- 
terrupts the uniformity of this newly created country. What 
can be better, it will be said, either for buildings or for insti- 
tutions, than not to be incumbered with ruins! * I feel thal| 
in America, I should love new cities and new lawa : there, na- 
ture and liberty speak so inunediately to the soul, as to lea^e 
no want of recollections ; but, in this old world of oniSi tho 
past is needful to us. Berlin, an entirely modem dty, beauti- 
ful as it is, makes no serious impression ; it discovers no maika 

of a battle-Held,* were neTertheleae awakened to the ftet that aooMlUi^ 
important was going on in life, and they nibbed their sleepy ejea, and 
tried to Mia little into that The roll of dnune has thia merit, at all evaaSSi 
that it drawamen ftom their library table to the window, and so makes thaaa 
look oat upon the moving, living world of aoUoo, wherein the amdlla magr 
see a * oonaidenble eenaation' made even bj men nnable to oo^Jofnls • 
Greek verb In '^i.* *«-(G. H. L«w«iP X(r« ^ ^TMAe, veL L p. SSS.)-JIHL % 


of the liiatory of the countiy, or of tho cbarocter of its inhaln 
itants, and ita mo^ificcat new-built bouses aeem destined only 
for tbc coDvenieDt ssacmblage of pleaaares and iridustiy. The 
iaett p&Iaces in Berlin are built of brick ; hardly any stone ia 
to be found even to ita triumphal arcbea. Tho capital of Pru»> 
■ia reumblea Fnigaia itself; its buildings and institutions are 
of the age of man, and no more, because a single man v/u 
their foaoder. 

The cotut, over which a faeantiful and virtuous queen pro- 
sidct, WHS at once inipoEing and simple ; the royal family, 
which threw itself voluntarily into society, knew how to mix 
vith dignity among the nation at large, and became identified 
in all hearts with their native coantry. Tho Icing had found 
the means of filing at Berlin, J. von Mailer, Ancillon, Fichte, 
Bomboldt, Hofcland, a multitude of men distinguished in dif- 
ferent ways; in short, all the elements of a delightful society, 
snd of a powerful nfttion, were there ; but these elements were 
not yet combined or united together. Genins wm attended 
witli much more BDCcess, however, at Berlin than at Yienoa; 
the hero of the nation, Frederick, Having been a man of tiDCom- 
moa brilluD<7, tlie reflection of hia name still inspired a love 
for every thing that resembled him. Uaria Theresa did not 
give a nmilar impulse ta the people of Vienna ; and whatever, 
in Joseph, bore Uie least appearance of genina, waa nffideni 
to disgust tliem with it* 

■ "TbsdtjrU tftnated in tha midit of ■ dreuj pUlo of und, destitnt* 
•fd(lierbMtit7orfeitiIit]r. ItUmpriiingthMthafoniulBtioaof ■ town 
alxmld arar hsTa boan U!d on so nnintaTUting i. apot, baC It Is lar niors 
wondsribl IliAt It abocld have grown np, iiotwitbtUiadiDg, Into tha flonr- 
bUng mflM of • fnat smj^ra, Frartona to the idga of Tredailck I, b 
WW an tuiimpoitut town, oonliiad to tko rif ht bank of the 8)wm, and to 
.tfas Uaod «n wUeh tho palm and moMtun now ataod. Nqin that Una, 
In ooa bnndrad and thj jaan, Ita popnUtlon bM linraaaad tsnfidd, and 
Itt llmba havB aztmdad nnUl Its walla an twolvs mllaa In dnomfknncs. 
Tndatiek tha Oraat, htiag amUtlona to |niai • oapltsi proportiond* to 
tha n^ latriaaa tt bia doBinlODs, at onoa Inalaaad • vast spaa* with 
inOt, and ordorad it to b* Sllsd witb bonsaa. Aa tba population was 
Bosaqr, Ihs edlj mod* oT SMSpljInt with tha wisbM of tha aevtrslgn waa 
IgUiilA lm thahooaM B wrsawldsa^aaasapossUiU. InssoaaqMMt, 


BERLIN. 118 

No spectado in all Germany was eqoal to that which Beriin 
presented. This town, sitaated in the centre of the north of 
Germany, may be considered as its focus of enlightenment. 
Sciences and letters are cultivated there; and at dinners, both 
ministerial and priyate, where the men meet together, tho 

somo of the luuidsomest hotels are only two stories high, and hsT» •• 
manj as twenty windows on a line. The streets are neoesMrily broad, and 
therefore generally appear empty. Owing to the want of stone in the 
neighborhood, the larger part even of the pnblio baUdings are of briek 
and plaster. The flatness of the ground, and the sandy soil, prodnoe iiH 
oonreniences which the stranger will not be long in detecting. There is 
so little dedlTity in the sarface, that the water in the dndns, instead of 
innning oflf, stops and stognates in the streets. In the Friedridisstraaaa, 
which is two miles long, there is not a foot of descent ftom one end to tho 
other. In the summer season, the heat of the snn roileoted by the sand 
becomes intolerable, and the nozions odors in the streets arsTSiy nnwhola- 
some as weU as unpleasant. A third nuisance is, that the streets are only 
partially proTided with trottoirs, so narrow that two persons can scaroalj 
walk abreast ; and many are infamously paved with sharp stones, opon 
which it is oxomciating pidn to tread. 

** The mere passing traToUor, in search of amusement, will ezhanst ik§ 
nghtt of Berlin perhaps in a fortnight, and afterwards And it tedioos with- 
out the society of IKends. The stranger coming to reaide here, prorided 
with good introductions, may find on agreeable literary society, oompoaed 
of the most talented men in Germany, whom the goTemment has the art 
of drawing around it in an official capacity, or as professors of the UniTor- 
sity. The names of Humboldt, the trsToUer; Bavigny, the Jurist; Bai^ 
and Baumer, the historians; Ehronberg, the naturalist; Yon Bndiftlia 
geologist; Bitter, the geographer; Grimm, the philologist, and editor of 
the Kinder and Haus-Mirohen ; Schelling, the metaphysical writer; Cor- 
neUns, the painter; Tieck, the author (who spends three months of tho 
year here, the king having granted him a pension on that ooodltioii), all 
residents of Berlin, eigoy a European celebrity. The society of the upper 
classes is on the whole not very accessible to strangers, nor is hoq>itiiU^ 
exercised to the same extent among them as in Sngland, ohiefly becaoae 
their fortunes are limited. The hotels of the diplomatic eorpa are aa ex* 
oeption, and in them the most agreeable mMti are held in the winter 

** Notwithstanding the disadrantogee of oituation, Berlin is oertainly oim 
of the finest cities in Europe. Some of the meet splendid buildings are 
concentrated in a very smidl space between the palace (Schloas) and the 
Brandenburg Gate, or very near it. Few European eapitala eon ahow so 
much architectural splendor as is seen in the colossal FlUaoe, the beantifbl 
oolonnade of the Museum, the ehsste Guard-house, the gnat Open, and 
the University oppoaite.*>---<i^«mi|f'« Mamd-JSM /or Ihriktm 
P.SS8.)— J». 


iqpantkNi of imiik% to ptqndidal to GenDuiy, ii not 
<nfciced, hut people of talent of •!! thmm M6 collected Thk 
happj miitiire k not yeti howBwWf eitended to tbo oodety of 
vooMB. Ibeie are among tbcm lome whoM talenta and 
neooBpiiihiBenta attnct evwy thing that ia distingoiihed to 
their drdea; bat| generally qpealdngi at Beriin, aa wdl aa 
throif^boiit the net of Gennanyi female aocietf ia not well 
imalgamatei with that of the men, Ihe great chann of aodal 
life^ la naaee^ oonaiata in the art of poifeetly reconciling all 
the adfantagea which the wit of tho men and women united 
can coofiv upon conTerM&m. AtBeriinythemenrardycon- 
▼erM eicept with each other; the militaiy condition girea 
them n aoit of mdencm, which prerenta them from taking any 
trouble aboot the aociety of women* 

VHnexi there are, aa in Englandi great political interoata to 
be diacnmedi the aocietica of men are alwaya animated bj e 
noUe ibding common to all; but in coantriea where there ia 
no represcntatiTo govcmnionti tho presence of tho women ia 
neccasaiy, to prcacnre all the sentimonta of delicacy and pnrify, 
without which tho love of the beautiful must perifth. Tlio in- 
fluence of women ia yet more aolutary to the Boldier tbon to 
the citiaen ; the empire of law can subsiat without them much 
better than that of honori for they can alone presenre the spirit 
of chivalry in a monarchy purely military. Ancient Fhinco 
owed all her splendor to Uiis potency of public opinion, of 
which female ascendency was the caasc 

Society at Berlin consisted only of a very small number of 
men, a circumstance which almost alwaya spoils the members 
of it by depriving them of the anxiety and of the necessity to 
please. Officers, who obtained leave of absence to pass a few 
montha in town, sought nothing there but the dance or the 
gaming-table. The mixture of two languagoa waa detrimental 
to conversation, and the groat assemblies at Beriin afforded no 
higher intereat than those at Vienna ; or rather, in point of 
manners, there waa more of the custom of the world at the 
latter than at the former of thoae capitals. Notwithstanding 
thii^ the liberty of the prsaspthe assemUage of men of geniu% 

BssLor. 115 

tbe knowledge of literaiare, and of the Gennan language, 
which had been genorallj diffused of late, contributed to ren- 
der Berlin the real metropolis of modem, of enlightened Ger- 
manj. The French refugees somewhat weakened that entirel/ 
Oerman impulse of which Berlin is susceptible ; thej still pre- 
served a superstitious rcTerence for the age of Louis XIV; 
their ideas respecting literature became &ded and petrified al 
a distance from the countiy which gave them birth ; yet, in 
general, Berlin would have assumed a great ascendency over 
public spirit in Germany, if there had not still continued to 
exist (I must repeat it) a feeling of resentment for the con- 
tempt which Frederick had evinced towards the German 

The philosophic writers have often indulged unjust preju- 
dices against Prussia ; they chose to see in her nothing but 
one vast barrack, and yet it was in this very point of view that 
she was least worthy of observation. The interest which thia 
country really deserved to excite, consisted in the enlightonmonti 
the spirit of justice, and the sentiments of independence, which 
are to be met with in a number of individuals of all dassea; 
but the bond of union of these noble qualities had not yet 
been formed. The newly constructed State could derive no 
security, either from duration or from the character of tho 
materials which composed it 

The humiliating punishments generally resorted to among 
the German soldiery, stifled the sentiments of honor in tho 
mmds of the soldiers* Military habits have rather iignred 
than assisted the warlike spirit of the Prussians. These habita 
were founded on those ancient methods which soparatod tho 
army from the body of the nation, while in our days, ther« b 
no real strength except in national character. This charaotor, 
in Prupsia, is more noble and more exalted than late eventa 
might lead us to imagine ; ^ and the ardent heroism of iho 
unhappy Prince Louis ought stUl to shed some glory Ofir Ua . . 
companions in arms.*** 

A SopprtsMd b/ the osnsoiB. I itnugUd dnriaf ssvtwl days te sHtalp 

lie lUBAJCB DB itasl's OBXiJnr. 



All the north of Gormany it filled with the meet IcAned , 
unirenitiet in Europe. In no eonntiy, not eren in England, { 
•re there lo many means of instraotion, and of bringing the ,' 
fiicolties to perfection. How is it then that the nation is / 
wanting in energy, that it appears generally dull and confined, 
OTcn while it contains within itself a small number, at least, of 
men who are the most intellectual in all Europe f It is to th^ 
nature of its goremment, not to education, that this singula^ 
contrast must be attributed. Intellectual education is perfect 
in Germany, but crcry thing there passes in theory : practical 
education depends solely on atrairs ; it is by action alone that 
the character acquires the firmness necessary to direct in the 
conduct of life. Character is an instinct ; it has more alliance 
with nature than the understanding, and yet circumstances 
alone give men the occasion of developing it. Governments 
are the real instructors of peoples ; and public education itself, 
however good, may create men of letters, but not citizens, war- 
riors, or statesmen.* 

the llbortj of rendering thlt homage to Prinee Lonls, and I roproiented 
that it was placing the giorj of the French in relief, to praiae the braverj 
of those whom they had conquerod ; but it appeared more simple to the 
censors to permit nothing of the kind. 

> " By Germans themselves, German universities are admitted to have 
been Inooroporably inferior to the Dutch and Italian universities, until the 
foundation of the UnlTersity of GSttingen. Muenehhsusen was for Gdt- 
tlngen and the German universities, what Douia was for Leyden and the 
Pnteh. But with this difference: Leyden was the model on which the 
- younger universities of the Bepoblio were oonstmcted ; 05ttingen, the 
modd on which the older universities of the Empire were reformed. Both 
wers statesmen and soholars. Both proposed a high ideal for the schools 
founded under their anspioee; and both, as flrst ourators, Ubored with par* 
InSuenci in imMng this ideal ibr ths lamo long period of.thir^- 

Tin: oi:iiMAx UNiVKrwornES. 


In Qcnnany, tho genius of philosophy goes further than any- 
|)oro olso; nothing arrcAts it, and ovon tho wont of a political 
)or, so fktal to tho mtM^ affords a freer aeqM to tbe think* 
part of tho nation. DntjUofo i t ti lifl ll MMfl dlit« ><^^Jba* 
|eon tho first and socond orders of min ds, becag sp. '* 

gbi ef eoBoepttonii ihp xnost^xost. In Gorman ^ a man w i 
lot jQiCcap^^dUi. tho nniyory^ , hhs fff illy n ttfmn g tft do . 
\o German nniversitics possess an ancient reputation of a 
several centuries antecedent to tho Reformation. Sinco 
kt epoch, the Protestant universities have been incontestablj 
)rior to the Cathoh'c, and the literary glory of Gorman/ 
mds altogether upon these institutions.' Tho English nni* 

yean, Undor tholr patronage, Leydon and OAttlni^ took tho high- 
place aroonff tho unWonitics of Europe, and both haTo only loot tholr 
tWo Rupromocjr bjr tho application in other aomlnarlos of tho imo 

nrcs which had at fimt dotormlnod tholr anporiori^. 
From tho mutnal rolationa of tlie Bcrolnarioa, atatoa, and pooplo of the 
plro, tho rcaort to a Oerroan unlvondty baa in gononl boon slwijs 
nly dependent on ita comparative excollonee ; and aa tho Intoroit of the 
loral States was involved in the proaperity of their aovond nnivonitloo, 

improvement of one of these schools neoosaarily ooeaslonod tho Im- 

vement of tho others. No sooner, therefore, had Qdttlngon risen to a 

dcd superiority through her system of onratorial patronago, and other 

rdinate improvements, than tho dlfTerent govemmonta found it nooos- 

to place tholr seminaries, as far as possible, oh an oqnol footing. The 
CO of professorial recommendation, under whioh tho univorsiUot had 
ong pined, was generally abated ; and tho Ibw sohoola in whioh it has 
B tolerated, subsist only through tholr endowments, and atand aa wam- 

moniynenta of its ofToct. Compare wealthy Oreifswaldo with peer 
lo. The virtual patronage was in general found best oonildod to a mmU 

^ curat&rt ; though the peculiar olroumstancos of tho country, and the 
hilar organization of ita madiineiy of government, havo rooontly onabled 

ast ono of tho German States to oohoentnte, witiiout a violatioii of ew 
oiples, ita aoademioal patronago in a ministry of publio instrvotloB. 

, however* we cannot now explain. It ia univoraally admittod, thai 

their riao through the new aystem of patronage, tho uoivonlllos at 

y havo drawn Into their aphore the highest talent of tho natfea; 

the DOW era in ita Intellectual llA has boon whoUy detomiaod hf 

I ; as flrom them have emanated almost idl tiio moat raaaikablt pied- 

of Oonnan geniua In literature, erudition, phllooophy, sad 

iir Wm. Hamilton*a Ditouttiom^ p. SS1.>— JBtf. 

A akotoh of thooo InaUtutloDs ia proaontod to us In anwk OB ths i 




■ k.^ 


TenhieB Imto nngularly contriboted to diffuse among the peo- 
ple of Engbuid that knowledge of ancient langoagee and litera- 
txtT% which gires to their orators and statesmen an information 
eo liberal and so brilliant It is a mark of good taste to be 
acqoainted with other things besides matters of business, when 
one is thoronghlj acquainted with them ; and, besides, the 
eloquence of free nations attaches itself to the history of the 
Greeks and Romans, as to that of ancient fellow-countrymen. 
Bet the German nniyersities, although founded on principles 
analogous to those of England, yet differ from them in many 
respects : the multitude of students assembled together at Gdt* 
tingen, Halle, Jena, etc^ formed almost a free body in the State : 
the rich and poor scholars were distinguished from each other 
only by personal merit; and the strangers, who came from all 
parts of the world, submitted themselves with pleasure to an 
equality which natural superiority alone could change. 

There was independence, and even military spirit, among 
the students ; and i( in learing the university, they had been 
able to devote themselves to the interests of the public, their 
education had been very favorable to energy of character; but 
they returned to the monotonous and domestic habits which 
prevail in Germany, and lost by degrees the impulse and reso- 
lution, which their university life had inspired. They retained 
nothing of it, but a stock of valuable and very extensive infor- 

In every German university, several professors concurred to- 
gether in each individual branch of instruction ; thus, the mas- 
ters themselves were emulous from the interest which they felt 
in attaining a superiority over each other in the number of 
scholars they attracted. Those who adopted such or such a 
partieolar course, medicine, law, etc, found themselves naturally 
impelled to require information on other subjects ; and thence 
comes the imiversality of acquirements, which is to be remarked 

jeet, Jot p«l>Uihed by K. do Villen, so anthor who is alwajt found at the 
liMid of idl noble sod genorons opinionB ; who ao e ms oalled, by tho alo- 
of hit mind and the depth of hie itadiea, to be tbs repreeentetive of 
I in Otnonj, end of Qennoiy in Vranoe. 


in almoft all the educated men of Oennany. The nnirerritf ea 
had a separate property* in their possessions like the cleigy ; 
thej had a jurisdiction peculiar to themselres ; and it was a 
noble idea of our ancestors, to render the establishment of ed- 
nication wholly free. Mature age can submit itself to cireum* 
/stances; but at the entrance into* life, at least, a young man 
I should draw all his ideas from an uncorrupted source. 
I The study of languages, which,*in Germany, constitutes the 
basis of education, is much more farorable to the evolution of 
the faculties, in the earlier age, than that of mathematics, or 
of the physical sciences. Pascal, that great geometer, whoso 
profound thought hovered over the science which he peculiarly 
cultivated, as over every other, has himself acknowledged tho 
insuperable defects of those minds which owe their first for* 
mation to the mathematics. This study, in the earlier age, 
exercises only the* mechanism of intelligence. In boys, occu- 
pied so soon with calculations, the spring of imagination, then 
so fair and fruitful, is arrested; and they acquire not in its 
stead, any pre-eminent accuracy of thought, — ^for arithmetio 
aDd algebra are limited to the teaching, in a thousand forms, 
propositions always identical. The problems of life are more 
complicated ; not one is positive, not one is absolute ; we must 
conjecture, we must decide by the aid of indications and aa- 
sumptions, which bear no analogy with the infallible procedure 
of the calculus. 

Demonstrated truths do not conduct to probable truths; 
which alone, however, serve us for our guide in business, in 
the arts, and in society. There is, no doubt, a pomt at which 
the mathematics themselves require that luminous power of 
invention, without which it is impossible to penetrate into tfao 
secrets of nature. At the summit of thoaght, the imaginationa 
of Homer and of Newton seem to unite ; but how many of the 
yoang, without mathematical genius, consecrate their time to^ 
this science I There is exercised in fhem only a sinj^e £ieultj» 

> MottoftlMoo&tinantalQiiivtnUUshAVS^MBStiippedef tMr 

ISO KAsiAia DB «tjjel's OBQUST. / 


lASe Hm wIioIo moni being oug^ to bt under derdopinenl / 
•t aa age wliea it k to easy to derange tlie tool and the body^ 
fia attenptiag to atrengtben only a part 

KotUng b lew af^Ucable to .life than a mathematical aigQ- 
BMBt A propotitiony coached in dpherii ia deddedlj either 
true or febe. In all other Idationa the tnie and the fiibe are 
ao in t enmn gledy that frequently instinct alone can decide na in 
die strife of motiTcti aomotiinei as powerftd on the one side as 
OB the other. Ihe study of the mathematicSi habituating to 
eertainty, irritates us agidnst all opinions opposed to our own; 
while thi^ which is the most important for the conduct of thia 
worid is to undcrrtand otheni— that is, to comprehend all that 
leada them to think and to feel differently from oursdreSi The 
mathematics induce us to take no account of any thing that ia 
not proTed, while primitiTc truths, those which are sdsed by 
feeling and gcuias, arc not susceptible of demonstration. 

In fine, mathematics, subjecting every thing to calculation, 
inspire too much reverence for force ; and that sublime energy, 
which accounts obstacles as nothing, and delights in sacrifices, 
does not easily accord with the kind of reason that is devel- 
oped by algebraic combinations. 

It seems to mc, then, that, for the advantage of morality as 
well as that of the understanding, the study of mathematics 
should be taken in its course as a part of complete instruction, 
but should not form the basis of education, and consequently 
the determining principle of character and the soul. 

Among systems of education, there are likewise some which 
advise us to begin instruction with the natural sciences ; in the 
earlier age they are only a simple diversion; they are learned 
rattles, which accustom to methodical amusement and super* 
ficial study. People have imagined that children should be 
spared trouble aa much as possible, that all their studies should 
be turned into recreations^ and that, in due time, collections of 
natural history should be given to them for playthings, and 
physical experiments for a show. It seems to me that this 
also is an erroneous syatem. Even if it were possible that a 
diild should learn any thing well in amusmg itself^ t dmUL 


still xegrei that its fSEU^ulty of attention liad not beooi derelopedy 
^-a faculty which is much more essential than an additional 
acquirement I know they will tell mo that the mathf^inatica 
call forth, in a peculiar manner, the power of i^lication; but 
they do not habituate the mind to collecti to appreciate^ to 
concentrate ; the attention they require is, so to speak, in a 
straight line; the human understanding acts in matheosatioa 
like a spring tending in a uniform direction.^ 

Education, conducted by way of amusement, dissipatea 
thimght t,jiain in flYCIlJ^;7'C ^ ^^® pf^.thg^geat s eCTeta> >f 
nature : the mind of the dbiild shduld accusto m itself to the 

[^as ourlfuul aecuslouis ilsislf to suiienng. B% 
w£ch leads to Ihe p e rfecti on of^ofiireaaiS^ as grief to 
that of our later age : it is to be wished, no doubt, that paients, 
like destiny, may not too much abuse this double secret; but 
there is nothing important at any period of life but that whieh 
acts upon the very central point of existence, and we are too 
apt to consider the moral being in detail. Ton may teach 
your child a number of things with pictures and cards, but 
you will not teach him to learn ; and the habit of fwintSng 
himseli^ which you direct to the acquirement of knowledge^ 
will soon take another direction when the child is no koger 
under your guidance. 

' It is not, therefore, without reason, that the 'study of the 
ancient and modem languages has been made the baids of all 
the establishments of education which have formed the most 
aUe men throughout Europe. The sense of an expression in 
a foreign language is at once a grammatical and an inteOectQal 
problem ; this problem is altogether proportioned to the intel- 
lect of the child : at first he understands only the words, then 
he ascends to the conception of the phrase, and soon after, the 
charm of the expression, its force, its harmony— all the quali- 
ties which are united in the language of man, are gradnaUj 

1 On the Btadj of mafthematioB, see Sir Wm. HsmSltoa's JHtaumtmi #» 
don odition, pp. aeS-S4a.— JSC 


ISS xAsiAia in siasl's exBoujn. 

pe i ee i fed Ij the duU wIiQe engaged in translating. He 
makea a trial of himaelf with the diffienltiea whieh are pre- 
•anted to him bytwolangnages at a time; he introdoees him- 
aelf to ideaa in looeesnon, compares and oonibsnes different 
aorta of analogiea and probabflitiea; and the spontaneooa 
activity of the mind, that alone which tmly derdops the 
£MDlt7 of thiwVing, is in a livdy manner excited bj this stody. 
Hie munber of fiiealtics which it awakens at the same tiine 
givea it the advantage over every other species of labor, and 
we are too happy in being aUe to employ the flexible memory 
of a child in retaining a Idnd of knowledge^ withont wUch he 
wooU be all his life confined to the cirde of his own nation— 
a circle narrow like every thing which ia exdoaive. 

Hie study of grammar reqiures the same sequence and the 
aame force of attention as the mathematics^ but it ia mudi 
more dosdy connected with thought Grammar unites ideas, 
aa calculation combines figures ; grammatical logic is equally 
predse with that of algebra, and still it applies itself to every 
thing that is alive in the mind : words are at the same time 
ciphers and images ; they are both slaves and free, subject to 
the discipline of syntax and all powerful by their natural signi- 
fication ; thus we find in the metaphysics of grammar exact- 
ness of reasoning and independence of thought united ; every 
thing has pamed by means of words, and every thing is again 
found in words when we know how to examine them : lan- 
guages arc inexhaustible for the child as well as for the man, 
and every one may draw from them whatever ho stands in 
need of. 

The impartiality natural to the spirit of the Germans, leads 
them to take an interest in the literature of foreign countries, 
and wo find few men a little elevated above the conmion class 
who arc not familiar with several languages. On leaving 
school they arc in general already well acquainted with Latin 
and even with Greek. The education of the German univor- 
rities, says a French writer, begins where that of most nations 
in Europe ends. Not only the professors aro men of astonish* 
ing infermationy but what especially distinfl(uishes them is, 


tliHir oxtromo tcrupulonsness in instruction. InGennaojr, men 
have a conacieiico in eveiy thing, and there is notMng that 
can dispense with it. If we examine the conne of hnm&n 
destiny, wo shall seo that levity of disposition may lead to 
every thing thftt is bad in tliia woild. It is only in the child 
that levity has a chann ; it seems as if the Creator still led 
the child by the hand, and assisted him to tread gently over 
the clouds of life. But when time abandon! man to himself^ 
it is only in the serioosncss of bis sotU that he can find 
thonghts, eentiments, and rirtnoa. 




It will at first sight appear inconsistent to pnuse the ancient 
method, which made the study of languages the basis of ednca- 
tioD, and at the same time to consider the school of Pcstaloni' 
as one of the best institutions of our age ; I think, however, 

■ " rMTill.aiii, JonAW IIiiiniTDTl, woiboni JumsrjlS, ITit, tt Znrioh, 
In Swlturluid. Ills fnthar, who was i ni<KUcal pnotilionar, dlad whan 
pMtnlotiLvu kbout ilx yoon old; bntlili molhar, wlih (ha luiiUnoa of 
•oma Mlutlvea, proound lilm i good edaciLtlon. IIo itudlod divloltj and 
tltorwaida law, bat loatcad of ulopUng oltbw tlia olarical or 1aji<d prof**- 
■ion, turnod to fnrmlriK as ft mcani of anpport. At tHa ag« of twantf -thrM 
bo inarrloJ Ilia dnufilitorof amorohnntof ZiirIah,purahuodaim^ Undod 
propoTt]' wMoh ho namod Neuhof, and want to rMldoupon ituidoultlvat* 
it.' Tlio rcodlni; of Boimacin'* 'Emlla* had dmwn hla sttantlon to th* 
wbjoot of adaoatlon, ud ha besao in ITTS to turf Dot hU vlawa bj tam- 
ing hi) fnrin Into a fium-aohool fbr Inatmotlnji tlia ohlldrsQ of th* poorar 
oluMi of tlia vicinity in induatrlal punulta as wall u In roadlnf and writ- 
ing. In thla, howDvor, ho was lltllo mora suocoulUl thsn he had b««Q In 
hli ■irr'o'iltnral operational at tha and of two foar* hia aohool waa brokSD 
ap, and lie bacsiDo bvolvod In dobt. In ordar to nlleve hintsolf fimn hU 
Inmnibraneoi, and to proonro tha maana of anbalstonoa, he prednead hU 
popular noval of ' I/alnhardt nnd Qartnd,' 4 vela., Baaal, 1T8I t In wUo^, . 
BBder Kolse of dsploUng aatnal paaiant lift, be sooght te ahewike M^ 


that both these ways of Tiowing the subject may be reconciled. 
Of all studies, that which with Pcstalozzi produces the most 
satisfactorf rcsulti is the mathematics. But it appears to me 
that his method might bo applied to manjr other branches of 
educationi and produce certain and rapid progress. Konsseau 

lectod condition of tba peMantrj, and how hj bottor tosohtng thoj might 
he improTod hoth monllj and physlonll/. It was read with general intor- 
eet, and the Agricnltaral Booiotj of Borne awarded him for It a gold medal, 
which, howerer, hia necesffltlos oompelled him at once to noil. It was fol* 
lowed bj * Chriatoph nnd Else/ Znrich, 1788. During 1782-88, ho edited 
a periodical entitled * Daa Sdiwelxer-Blatt ftlr daa Yolk* (* Swiss-Joomal 
for the People'), which was oollcctod in two rolames. 'Kaohforsohnngen 
aber den Gang dor Katar In der Entwlckelong dea Menehongeaohleohta' 
(' InTcstlgatlona Into the ProocM of Katnro In the Improvement of the 
Haman Race*) appeared at Zarich, in 1797 ; and he wrote alao other works 
of leaa importance. 

*' In 1798, with the aAtlstance of the Swiss Directorj, he established a 
school for orphan childron in a convent winch had bolonfccd to tho Ursu- 
lino nans at Stanz, in tho canton of Untcrwaldcn. Stanz )md been socked 
by a French orroy, ond tho children were such as were led without pro- 
tectors to wiuidor about tho country. In tho boro and deserted convent 
he had, without OAsistanco and without books, to teach obout eighty chil- 
dren of from four to ten years of ofro. IIo was driven by necessity to sot 
tho elder and bettor taught children to teach tho younger and more igno- 
rant ; and thus struck out tho monitorial or mutual-instruction system of 
teaching, which, just obout tho somo time, Lancaster was under some- 
what similar circumstances led to adopt in Englond. In loss than a year, 
Pestalozzi's benevolent labors were suddenly intorrupted by the Aus- 
trians, who converted his orphan-house into a militory hospital. He then 
removed to Buigdorf, eleven miles northeast fVom Berne, whore he found- 
ed another school of a higher class, and produced his educational works. 
'Wie Gertrud ihre Kinder Ichrt* (*How Gertrude teaches her children'), 
Berne, 1801; «Bach der Matter* (* Mothers' Book'), Berne, 1803; ond 
Bome others. Daring this period of political excitement, he joined the 
popular party, and in a considerable degree incnrrcd the disapproval of 
the upper class. In 1802, the people of the conton of Berne sent him aa 
their deputy to an educational conference summoned by Bonaparte, then 
First Consul, at Paris. His establishment at Burgdorf was prosperous, 
became oelebratod, and was resorted to from all parts of Europe by persona 
interested in education, some for instruction, and others for inspection. 
In 1804, he removed his establishment to MQnchen-Buchsee, near Hofwyl« 
in order to operate in oox^unction with Fellenberg, who had a similar es- 
tabliahment at the latter plooe ; but the two educational reformers disa- 
greed, and in the aame year Pestalozzi removed to Tverdun, in the eanton 
of Yand, where the government appropriated to hia nae an nnoconpied 
eaitla. Thia eatabliahment beoame even more proaperona and mora oela- 


iMsnTunoNs fob XDUOAixoir. 1S5 

waa ponoodod that children, bofora the age of twArt or iidt' 
toon, had not an understanding oqaal to tiho atodiaa that wars 
required of them, or rather to the method of inatmotioii to 
which they were subjected. Thejr repeated without oompra- . 
hending, they labored without gaining instmotioni and fliey 
flrequontly gathered nothing from tlieir education but the haUl 
of performing their task without understanding it, and of arad- 
ing the power of the master by the cunning of the aoholar* 
All that Ilousseau has said against this routine eduoatkm it 
perfectly true ; but, as it often happens, the remedy which ho 
proposes is still worse than the evil. \ 

A child who, according to Rousseau's system, should hafo 
learned nothing till he was twelye years old, would hare loai 
six of the most valuable years of his life ; his intellectual oigaaft 
would never acquire that flexibility which early infiuicy alone 
could give ihcm. Ilabits of idleness would bo so doeply rooted 
in him, tliat he would be rendered much more nnluqppy bj 
speaking to him of industry, for the first time, at the age of 
twelve, than by accustoming him, from his earliest existenee^ 
to consider it as a necessary condition of life. Beiideai thai 
kind of care and attention which Ilousseau requirea of the 
tutor, in order to supply instruction and necessary to aeeure 

brated than the one at Bnrgdorf, and had a aiUl graator number of popBa 
and of vifllton. Unfortunately, diBsensiona aroee among the teachaii, Jm 
irhich Peatalozzi hlmsolf became implicated, and which embitkarad the 
latter years of his life. The nmnbor of pnpila rapidly diminishM, the 
establiahment became a losing concern, and Pestalooi wit again Invel^ed 
in debt, which the proceeds of the complete edition of hia lyrics (*Fiifai 
lozzi*s Sammtlieho Werke,* 15 vols., Stnttgard and TObiogta, ISlf-M) 
hardly sufficed to liquidate. This edition was the reanlt it a iobMi^ 
tion got up in 1818 for the publication of his works, the names of ihm Xib» 
peror of Bussia, the King of Prussia, and the King of Bavaria, stendlnf al 
the head of the Ust 

" In 1825, Pestslozsi reUred finom Ins laborious duties to Vtnhot, whm% 
his grandson resided. Here he wrote his * Schwanengeeang* (' Song of the 
[Dying] Swan'), 1886 ; and * Heine Lebensschicksale all Yontahar mihwr 
Brziehungsanstalten in Burgdorf und Iforten' ('ICy Llfi^s ywtiun a aa 
Superintendent of my Bducrtionsl Establishments at Bnigdorf and Tmi^ 
dun*),18SS. He diedFebmaiy 17, ISS7, at Brag,ln thaoiDtOQOf i 


126 ifATiAine DE STASl's OKBMANT. 

hi would oblige every man to devote his whole life to the 
edncation of another being, and grandfathers alone would find 
themselves at liberty to begin their own personal career. Such 
pirojects are chimerical ; but Pestalozzi's method is real, appli- 
cable, and may have a great influence on the future progress 
of the human mind. 

Rousseau says, with much reason, that children do not com- 
prehend what they learn, and thence concludes that they ought 
to learn nothing. Pestalozzi has profoundly studied the cause 
of this want of comprehension in children, and by his method, 
ideas are simplified and graduated so as to be brought within 
the reach of diildhood, and the mind of that age may acquire, 
without fatiguing itself^ the results of the deepest study. In 
passing with exactness through all the degrees of reasoning, 
Pestalozzi puts the child in a state to discover himself what we 
wish to teach him. 

There are no half measures in Pestalozzi's method : they 
either understand well, or not at all ; for all the propositions 
fellow each other so closely, that the second is always the im- 
mediate consequence of the first Rousseau says, that the 
minds of children are fatigued by the studies which are ex- 
acted from them. Pestalozzi always lead them by a road so 
easy and so determinate, that it costs them no more to be ini- 
tiated into the most abstract sciences than into the most simple 
occupations^-each step in these sciences is as easy, by relation 
to the antecedent, as the most natural consequence drawn from 
the most ordinary circumstances. What wearies children is 
making them skip over the intermediate steps, and obliging 
them to get forward without their knowing what they think 
they have learned. Their heads are then in a state of con- 
fusion, which renders all examination formidable, and inspires 
them with an invincible disgust for learning. There exists no 
trace of this sort of inconvenience in the method of Pestalozzi. 
The children amuse themselves with their studies, not that 
they are given to them as a play, which, as I have already 
said, mixes ennui with pleasure, and frivolity with study, but 
because they enjoy from their infancy the pleasure of grown 


men, which is that of comprehending and finiiihing what they 
are set about 

The method of Pestalozzi, like eveiy thing that is tnily good, 
is not entirely a new discovery, but an enlightened and perse- 
rering application of truths already known. Patience^ obaer- 
Tation, and a philosophical study of the proceedings of the 
human mind, have given him a knowledge of what is demen* 
tary in thoughts, and successive in their development; and he 
has poshed further than any other the theory and the practioe 
of gradation, in the art of instruction* His method has been 
applied with success to grammar, geography, and music; bat 
it is much to be de^red that those distinguished professmsi 
who have adopted his principles, would render them subser- 
vient to every other species of knowledge. That of history in 
particular is not yet well conceived. No one has observed the 
gradation of impressions in literature, as they have those of 
problems in the sciences. In short, many things remain to be 
done, in order to carry education to its highest point, that isi 
the art of going backward with what one knows, in order to 
make others comprehend it. 

Pcstalozzi makes use of geometry to teach children arith- 
metical calculation ; this was also the method of the ancients. 
Geometry speaks more to the imagination than the abstraet 
mathematics. To become completely master of the human 
mind, it is well to unite, as much as possible, precision of in- 
struction with vivacity of impression, for it is not even the 
depth of science, but obscurity in the manner of presenting it| 
which alone hinders children from attaining it: diey compre* 
hend every thing by degrees, and the essential point is to 
measure the steps by the progress of reason in ii^uicy ; this 
progress, slow but sure, will lead as far as possible, if we ab- 
stain from hastening its course. 

It is very singular and pleasing to see at PestaloaTs the 
countenances of children, whose round, unmeaning, and deli- 
cate features naturally assume an expression of reflection : they 
are attentive of themselves, and consider their studies as a man 
of ripened age would consider hia busmess. One lemaiUbte 

^""^ VtAD.VME IE stall's GEr.MAXT. 

circQinstiQce is, that puniAhmcDtA and rewards aro never no- 

^^^ to «»!• then to indiMlijr. It k pcrh^ tho fint 

^ ttm a tdMMl of a hoMlred and fftf diiUrai has been 

^^^dvetod wilkwl tbo ilimidiis of aadatioB aiid ^^ Hov 

j^J eii lartiawBli are tparod to the beait of maB, when we 

T'^ivfiwi kin jcalouqr and hmnQiatioDy when he acee no 

'^ k Us eonradcti no judges in hb masten I Bomecaii 

^^'^ te solgeei the child to the kw of destiny; Pestalosii 

^'"'^ aeatca that destiny during the comse of the child*s ed- 

•^^Uioi, and diiocts its decrees towards his happiness and his 

/^^PvovemeBt The child feck himself free, because he enjoys 

f^^ielf amid the general oidcr which sonoandshim, the per^ 

^^^ equality of which is not deranged otoi by the talents e£ 

^^ childrenp whether more or less distingoiahod. Success is 

^ the oliject of pwsoit, but merdy pro gr es s towards a cer- 

^^r^ point, which all endeaTor to reach with the same sincerity. 
^^^^ sehobn become mssten when they know more than their 
^^^^nades; the masters again become achcJara when they pcr> 
^r^We any imperfections in their method, and begin their own 
^^^^cation again, in order to become better jadgcs of the diffi* 
ties attending the art of instruction. 
Xt is pretty generally apprehended that PestaloxzTs method 
^^ds to stifle the imagination, and is nn&Torable to originality 
,^^ ^nind. An education for genius would indeed be a difficult 
^^^^tter ; there is scarcely any thing but nature and gOTemment 
^'l^ich can either inspire or excite it ; but the first principles 
^^ knowledge, rendered perfectly clear and certain, cannot be 
^H obstacle to genius ; they give the mind a sort of firmness 
^liich afterwards renders the highest studies easy to it We 
^^imst Tiew the school of Pestalozzi as hitherto confined to 
^duldhood. The education he gives should be considered as 
'Snal only for the lower classes, but for that Tery reason it may 
diffuse a Tery salutary influence over the national character. 
The edocataon of the rich ought to be divided into two differ- 
ent periods : in the first, the children are guided by their 'mas- 
ters; in the second, they voluntarily instruct thenttdves; and 
this sort of edoeation, by choice^ is that which should be adopi> 


od in great univoTRitics. Tlio initruotion which ii acquired tt 
Fostaloui'ft gives ovory maD, of what cIqm toovor ho rnvj bo, 
K foundation on vrhioli bo maj erect, M lio cbooKi, oitbor tbe 
cotUgQ of t)io poor mnn or tin palaces of kings. 

Wo should bo mistnton in France, if wo thought thoro wu 
nothing good t« bo taken from tbo school of Pcitalozii, oxcopt 
his rnpid method of teaching calculation. PostaloEii ii not 
hiinnolf ft niathcinaticinn ; ho is not well acquainted with tb« 
languages ; bo has onljr that sort of genius and instinct, which 
onablrs him to develop tho undcntandings of childroa ; bo sees 
tho direction which thoir Uiought takes in ordor to attain its 
object. That openness of character which sheds so noble a 
calm over tho alToctions of tho heart, Fcstalozzi bos judged 00- 
ccssaiy in tbo operations of tho mind. Ho thinks thero is a 
moral pIcoHnro in completing our etudios. Indeed wo contin- 
ually »eo that superficial knowledge inspires a sort of disdain- 
ful arrogance, which makes us reject as usolcss, dangerous, or 
ridiculous, all that wo do not know. Wo alfo sco that this 
kind of superficial knowledge obliges ns artfully to bide what 
wo aro ignorant of. Candor sulTci-s from all those defects of 
education, which we arc ashamed of in spito of oursolrcs. To 
know perfectly what wo do know, gives a quietness to tba 
mind, which resembles tho satisfaction of conscience. Tbe 
open honesty of I'cstalozzi, that honesty carried into tho sphere 
of the understanding, and which deals with ideas as scrupu- 
lously as with men, is the principal merit of bis school. It is 
by that means ho assembles round him, men devotod to tbe 
welfare of the children, in a manner perfectly disinterested. 
When, in a public establishment, none of the selfish calcula- 
tions of the principals are answered, we must seek tbo spring 
which sets that establishment in motion, in their love of virtne : 
tbe enjoymente which it affords are alone sufficient, without 
either riches or power. 

We should not imitate the institution of Festolozzi, merely 
by carrying his method of instruction to other places ; it would 
be necessary also to establish with it the same perseverance in 
the muters, the aune simphcity in the BchoUn, the lama 

ifAnAine sk STASL's GEBMAHT. 

1^1% in their manner of life, and, abore all, the religioua 
iiiaaits which animate that achooL The forms of worship 
iiot foUowed there with more exactness than elsewhere ; 
9nrj thing is transacted m the name of the Deitj — in the 
ft of that -sentimenti noUe, derated, and pure, which is 
haUtoal religion of the heart IVoth, goodness, confi- 
^ affeetion, sorronnd the children ; it is in that atmos- 
ithef lire; and, for a time at least, they remain strangers 

the hateful passions, to all the proud prejudices of the 
L An eloquent phOoeophcr (Fidite) said, that he ^ex- 
d the regeneration of the German nation, from the insti- 
ll of Pestalozn.'' It must be owned that a revolution 
led on such means would be neither yiolent nor rapid ; for 
ition, however exceHent, is nothing in comparison with 
iflnence of public events. Instruction penetrates the rock, 
bj drop, but the torrent carries it off in a day. 
e must, above all, render homage to Pcstalozzi, for the 
be has taken to place his institution within the reach of 
ns without fortune, by reducing his terms as much as 
>]e. He is constantly occupied with the poorer classes, 
rishes to secure for them the benefit of pure light and 
instruction. In this respect, the works of Pcstalozzi form 
7 curious kind of reading. He has written tales, in which 
tuations in life of the common people are depicted with 
;ree of interest, truth, and morality, which is admirable, 
entiments which he expresses in his writings are, thus to 
, as elementary as the principles of his method. We are 
shed to find ourselves shedding tears over a word, a nar- 

so simple, even so vulgar, that the warmth of our emo- 
alone gives it consequence. People belonging to the 
classes of society are of an intermediate state between 
58 and men of civilized life ; when they are virtuous, they 
s kind of innocence and goodness which cannot be met 
n the great world. Society weighs heavily upon them ; 
(truggle with nature, and their confidence in God is more 
ted and more constant than that of the rich. Inces- 
' threatened with misfortunes, having constantly recoune 


to prajer, nnrious all lie day, and preserved every night, the 
poor feel thcmBelves under the immodiate hand of Him who 
protects those who arc abandoned by mankind; and their in- 
tegrity, when they have any, is singularly Bcruputons. 

I recollect, in a tale of Pcstalozii's, tbe reelitntion of aomo 
potAtoe» by a child who had stolen them : his dying grand- 
mother orders him to carry thorn back to the owner of tho 
garden from whence ho took them, and this scene affecta ns to 
the heart. This poor crime, if I may so call it, causing ancfa 
remorse; the awfulncss of death amid all the miseries of life; 
old age and childhood drawn together by tbe voice of Ood, 
which speaks equally to each of them ; — all this is painfol, very 
painful ; for, in our poetic fictions, the pomp and splendor of 
destiny relieve os a little from the pity occauoned by its re- 
verses-; but we fancy wo perceive, in these popular tales, a 
feeble lamp enlightening a small cottage, and goodness of soni 
springing forth in the midst of all the aSictiona by which it M 

As the art of drawing is to be considered as a nsefut art, it 
may be said, that among those which are merely pleasing, the 
only one introdnced into the school of Festaloszi is mnsic, and 
we should praise him also for the choice of it There is a 
whole order of sentiments, I might say a whole order of rir- 
taea, which belong to the knowledge of, or at least to the taste 
for, mnsic; and it is great barbarity to deprive a nnmeroos - 
portion of the human race of such impressions. The ancienta 
pretended that nations hod been civilised by mnsic, and thh 
allegory has a deep meaning; for wo must always sappOM 
that the bond of society was formed either by sympathy or 
interest, and certainly the first origin is more noble than tho 

Festalozd is not the only poison in Germanic Switserlaod 
who is sealoosly occupied in cultivating the minds of the com- 
mon people : in this respect I was much itnick with the estab- 
lishment of M, de Fellemberg, Many people catoe to it to 
acquire new light on the subject of agricnlture, and it is wd 
that, in this leepect, they have had leaaoa to be tatiefled; bst 



j ^ priacipBlIj dcMrrei the caU«m of tho friend* of hnnuB 

^1 ii ihe CATO whicli M. do FcUcmbcrg lakct of tlio educfttion 

. ^« lower cluKt; ho cauica rillnf^o Mhooimutcrs to bo 

r^jlit Maecdii^ to FwUloni^ metliod, thst thoj luy io 

^*h tea tMch dildran. Tkt Whann, -who 0BlU*»ta hia 

^(^■d^ lawn fMlm timcii ud tho pniiM of God vilt won 

**&Mnl ta ik§oomUj,taa^ bj uniplc, but hutoonioiM nioai, 

T^d «iB ealtbnU at ou« both BMnra aad iu Antlm. In 

^■■^ batwMn tbo inCBrior dua sad oar own, « libenl tio— • 
__** ^Uoh AaU not be ibandod morolj on Um pooaotorj inl«^ 
^*^ of tb« ikh ud tho poor. 

Aw« loam ftom tho eumplcs of Eogland utd of Amoriea, 
^^*% free bHtittitione ue fonnd miincicnt to dovolop Uio fiuul* 
^^ ud nadentaBdingt of tbo pcopio ; but it U a itop further 
^^ mtn tbtn mote than tho imtmction wliich k noccnaty to 
1^*111. Then ia wmothing rorolting in llip nocofmry, w]ion it 
^* meeanicd out by thow who poiacH tho Bapcrfluooi. It ia 
r**^l enough to bo occupied in promoting tho wolfaro of the 
^^er cUuci with a view to nHfulncH only ; tlioy innit alw 
^*^tticipato in the onjoymonta of tho imagination and tho 

It ii in thia spirit that lotne enlightened philanthropitits haTO 
^^^ np the Bubjcet of mendicity at llamburg. Neither doe- 
^^ititm nor ^ocnlativo economy have any place in their cliari- 
^^Ua fautitntioni. It wu their wiih that tho unfortuo&to 
.^^^jeeta of their caro ahoald thcintelvei dcairo the labor which 
,^^«i expected from them, aa much aa the boneraetiona which 
.^^«ro granted them. Aa tho welfare of the poor waa not with 
,^^em a mcana, but an end, they have not ordered thorn em- 
^(^ymnt, but havo made them desire it. We conatantly loe 
^^ tho different accoonta rendered of thoae charitable imtitu- 
^^»% that tho olject of their foiuidcra waa much more to ren- 
^^r men better than to make them more naefnl ;' and it ia thia 


Ugb| philoaopUciil point of riewy that oharaoterim Hi* sj^ril 
of wisdom and liberty which roigna in thia anoienl Hanaaatio 

Thoro ia much real boncficonoo in the worid, and he who ia 
not capable of serving his feliow-oreatnroa hj the aaeriflea of 
his time and of his inclinations, Toluntarily oontribntea to fheir 
welfare with money : this is still sometUngi and no TbtM la 
to be disdained. Bnt, in most conntriesi the groat maaa of 
private alms is not wisely directed ; and one of the naoat ami* 
nont services which Baron Yoght and hia ezeellont eoantijBMB 
have rendered to the canse of humanity, ia that of ahowini^ 
that without new sacrifices, without the intervention of Hia 
State, private bonoftconce is alone suflleient for the relief of the 
unfortunate. That which is effected by individnala la paitieii- 
krly suited to Govmany, where every thing taken aepamlalj 
is bettor than the whole togotlior. 

Charitable institutions ought indeed to prosper in the oity 
of Ilaroburg. There is so much morality among ita inhabit* 
ants, that for a time they paid tiioir taxea into a sort of tmnk 
without any persons seeing what tiiey brought; theao taxea 
were to be proportioned to the fortune of each individnal, and 
when die calculation was made, they were alwaya fennd to be 
Bcnipulously paid. Might we not believe that we were idating 
a circumstance belonging to the golden age, if in that golden 
ago there hod boon private riches and public taxea t Wa can- ' 
not suiBciontiy admire how easy all things relating to inatno- 
tion as well as to administration are rendered by honesty and 
integrity. We ought to grant them all the honors whibh del* 

dron, who are ncoired as Snfknta, reared, edoeated, and bound 
to some naoAil trade. The Onot JTot^iUtl (KranVenhtos), hi the sabaib of 
Saint George, U capable of eontaining fVom four thouiaad to flvo Ihoasaad 
sick. The joarlj ooit of anpporting this admlraUo InatJtnthw'ia mm^ 
£17,000. Its utility is not oouiined to the poor alont, as ovoa poaoas it 
the higher classes resort to the hospital to avail thonuMhros of &% advask* 
tagcs of the excellent medical treatment whloh thej maj bars obtidB. 8wk 
patients are admitted as lodgers, on pajmant cf^a aam vaijlBg fkom i%hl 
penoe to eight shiUinga a daj.**— {IfMmy'f 
OMMf , p. tSS.)— jK 


oniaDj obtains; lor in tho end thef loeoaed better ef«A 
-the affiun of this woiUL' 

W« hen add, from * eompeCoit band, * wamoMij of Um pW B mt !&• 

eoDditkNi of Oennanj. 

* In nspeei of mental eoltiTatioii, the Gennan natkm atanda in a high 

and aeooidlnf to Plofeaaor Befghana it ma/ be aaid without Tanitj, 

Gennaqj atanda on the higheat atep of the Udder of c&Tiliiation. In 

^MMntiy of Europe, he oontinnea, aie education and trae enlightenment 

it.iii>iinnj apiead orer all daaaea of aodetj, firom the richeet to the poor- 

aainhUfatheriand. Thia TeanH haa been hronght about only in recent 

and it ia aacribed to the unceaaing ezertiona of the State goTem- 

^^ to free thdr people from the darkneaa of ignorance and anperstition. 

P^^ar> ia not a Tillage in Germany that haa not ita achool to apread intelli- 

among ita people. 

For the pnrpoeea of ednoation there are, eapeoiall j in Proteatant Ger- 

y, nnmeitma achoola or inatitntiona for elementary inatmetion in all 

toima, for both the higher and the working classes. For the lugher 

ona and employments, there are real professional and oommer- 

ichoola, aeminariea for the training of schoolmasters, gymnasiums and 

for the higher branchea of edncation, and for the highest of all^ 

. are twenty-tlove nnivcrsities, to which may be added the German 

^^^versity of Kdnigsbeig, in East ProMia, making in all twenty-foor. 

.^^^ institotiona preparatory for the univerBitiea are the gymnasia, in 

J^^ch the edncational oonrse consists chiefly of dassical stadlcs, that ia to 

^ Greek and Latin, with French, mathematics, and a considcroblo por- 

of the natural sciences. The basis of their constitution lies in remote 

B, and there have been but few and slight alterations in their phms of 

^^ -y since the beginning of the present century. Owing, however, to the 

^^^^^llncss of the emoluments, and the consequent low estimation in which 

^^« olBoe of teacher is held, there is not a sufficient number of qualified 

^^tkipetitors to supply the Tocancies that occur. The government has been 

T^liged in consequence to raise their emolnmcnta, and thereby obviate thia 

^crcaaing evil. 

^ A more recent class of institutions are the reaUtchuUn (or high town- 
tchoola), in which Latin is the only ancient language taught, the other 
Wichea being modem languages, especially French and English, math- 
ematica, and natural philosophy. These schools have for a long time 
enjoyed much approval aa preparatory institutions for many dopartmcnta 
of dril life. Industrial achoola are of still more recent origin. They 
have been catablished by government in the larger towns of every prov- 
ince ; the one half of the expense of maintAinii^g them being defrayed by 
the goremmenV, and the other half by the municipality. Their purpose 
la pnrely indnatria) ; drawing, mechanica, mathematioa, phyaica, and ohem- 
iaby, are the anbjecta taught ; languagea are excluded. 

**The following table oontaina the namea of the twenty-fimr nnlTeral- 
ti«a; the datea of their reapectivo fonndationa; the number of profeaaon 
' other tea eh egs; the nnmber of ttndenta that attended them du^ 




Wb must attribute to the Gennan ehaneter a great part of 
the yirtaea of Germanic Switzerland, lliere ii| nererdifllMi^ 
more public spirit in Switzerland than in Germany, move par 
triotiem, more energy, more harmony in opiniona and 

lag the wintor Mtdon of 1809-4, and Um munlwiB tbift ■ttwiatd 
bniieh: — 




Brlangon . 











Vienna. . . , 

Total! . 

Datsi or 












1586 I - 






1678 I 




1409 - 









































^Tbe teachen oonaiated of the foUowlng cUwei, 
fcaion; 2. Sztnordinarj proftaaon; 8. Hooonij 

186 . ifAT^Aine us STAXL'b OXBKiJrT. 

mentB; bat the miallneaB of the States, and the poverty of the 
conntrji do not in any d^^ree excite genina; we find there 
nmch fewer learned or thinking men than in the north of 
German jy where eren the relaxation of political ties gires firee- 

or toton; & L«ogaag« and ezerdM masteit. The ttadanU ood* 

1. Btodents of PlrotMtiint theology 1693 

t. ** Bomui Catholie theology 1606 

S. ** Law, ttatecnft, end forestry 6894 

4. ** Medicine, ■orgery, end phtfmacy • • • • 8644 
fi. ** Philosophy end philology . . . • . . • 859S 

5. ~ noimfttridibited 1708 

^'In the mitter of ednoatioii, Pmssia is the mler end guide, and whst- 
erer is established or pursued in. that kingdom oomes sooner or later into 
opention in other States. Since the beginning of the present centory, 
education has oceopied the attention and received a new impolse at the 
bands of the other goTemments; hot it is only since 1848 that the school 
orgsniistion of Prussia has been transplanted into the Aostrian territory, 
where, however, it still contlnoes to experience the opposition of the 
nobles and clergy. The ignorance which formerly prevailed among the 
lower classes has almost entirely vaninhed in Northern Germany at least, 
and there u no class in which scholarly cultaro and scientific attainments 
may not be expected. The constant care, however, and determination of 
the government to make all partakers of a certain amount of education, bos 
made it seem necessary to constrain all parents by fines or other punish- 
ments to send their children to school. Peculiar attention is at present 
being paid to educational institutions, and the governments are seeking to 
reform them so as to prevent the recurrence or continuance of those evils 
that are believed to have flowed from them, and to have occasioned, in a 
great degree, if not entirely, the popular outburst in 1848. 

** Mental cultivation and the gcnpral difi'nsion of knowledge are largely 
promoted by means of numerous public libraries, established in the capi- 
tals, the university towns, and other places. The most celebrated publio 
libraries ore those of Vienna, Berlin, Oottingen, Munich, Dresden, Ham- 
burg, WolfcnbQttel, Stuttgart, Frankfort-on-the-Maine, and Weimar. 
Beddes the publio ones, there are throughout Qermany many private 
libmries of extraordinary richness in literary treasures of all kinds. There 
ve slso numerous societies and unions, among which the most distinguish- 
^ ore the Academies of Sdences at Berlin and Munich, and the Society of 
^enoee at Gottingen, which are state institutions. With sdentiflo oolleo- 
^hg^ of all kinds, every place is richly provided, either at the publio ex- 
^'■sae or by the favor of private persons. The observatories of Altona, 
J^es lin^ Breslan, Gottingen, Mannheim, Munich, Prague, Seeberg near 
^^^^i^ Vienna, and Kdnigsberg in Prussia, ars distinguished for the pro- 
"^ 9t astroDoay and other bfaaohaa of phyiloal aoienoe. The taste 


dom to all those noble rereriea, those bold tyiteiDi^ whioh lie 
not Bobjected to the natnre of things. The Swiss an not a 
poetical nation, and we are with reason ast^mished that the 
beanties of their country should not hare further inflamed their 

for Mtronomjr is voiy groat in Germanjr, as if eTidencsd hj 11m 

of mtokj prirate obsonrttoriot, among wbiofa thoao of Oltei at 

and of Beer near Berlin, are the meet eelebraSed. In this dopartmaali 

Germanj can boaat of the names of Copemiooa, Kepler, Henoliol, (Hbrn, 

Bessel, and manj others. 

** The lino arts likewise are carefolly fostered. Theirs are ■cad eml ee la 
Berlin, Dnsseldoif, Monieh, and Vienna, whose ohjeot H is to spraid a 
taste for punting, scalptnro, arohltectnro, and mnsio, and to Smproro the 
technics of art. The taste for art has struck deep root among an the oda- 
cated Germans, particularly in the north, and is directed and l e pr aat Bt ed 
hj three schools, those of Berlin, Dusseldorf, and Ifunldi, whJeh have 
produced some of the finest proofs of German genius. Bcaidios the aead^ 
mies, there are numerous art-museums snd collections of pktarea and OH* 
qiUties, particularly in Berlin, C&ssel, Dresden, Hunioh, and VieaiiiL la 
Sculpture, German genius has of late years greatly exceUeid, as in thamnks 
of Dannecker, Sohwanthalor, and Kiss ; and arohiteotnrs has raedved the 
greatest encouragement in the erection of both publio snd prifate hiindlB|B 
of great msgnificonce, of which the late King of Bararia ahowod the mort 
munificent example in the embellishment of his capital If nnieh, and the 
erection of the German Valhalla, near Rstisbon, though the attempi to 
adapt the Grecian temple stylo, without regard to dimsta sad other eir* 
cumstancos, to modem buildings, intended for very different pnipoMS, has 
foiled OS oompletoly there aa it has oTorywhere else. 

** The activity of the German mind on the wide flelda of art and solsnoo 
has, through the effect of gencrsl intercourse and exchange of ideas, pr»> 
ducod a liveliness of which the Germans believe there is no panUel to be 
found in sny other country of Europe. The German book-tndo. In wapaal 
of the position it has gradually acquired ainee the BeformatioD, moal bs 
considered as a prime mover in tho mental oolture of Gennaay; whUs, ia 
a material point of view, it has acquired an extent and importanea oLMntee 
unknown. Thousands of people find in it employment and mainteasDSi, 
as printers, type-founders, mschine-mskers, paper-makers, and book* 
binders ; and the productions of the press are apread all orsr Oemsay 
with the most marvellons rapidity. Leipzig is the central point of this 
important branch of industry. The general taste for the boantlfU has had 
its effect on the art of printing, in requiring the nae of fine, ekaa, i^ili 
paper, dear type, and elegant binding, insteid of the gray-bmra blallli^ 
paper, and wom-ont and broken type, that were formolj used. Thi 
periodical press is very active ; but political discussion la noi fkee» Oa 
political subfjeets, ik«edom of speech does not suit the Qennan gSfnB" 
ments, and offencea of thia kind are veiy aeveiely pnniahsd, ss hijijsnsJ 
hi 16M with Gervinns In Baden. Oa religioai however, sad rlinosopijL 


A id^g^ou and Am peopb an at aU tinMt toa^ 
kMiaanii and the daily oecupatiOM of life cannot 
lit If this eooldlum been donbled, we might 
lad of it bj the partoral fele^ wUch waa last year 
be nddat of Udhi in memofj of the founder of 

vita more than ever the leqpect and interest of 
ppears since its last misfertones to haTe resomed 
rfth new ardor; and, wliile losing its treasnresi 
its beneficence towaida the nnfortonate. The 
blishments in this place are peiluqps the best 
any in Europe : the hospital is the finesti and 
ly magnificent edifice in the city. On the gate 
inscription : Cbbisto xv paufiubub. Nothing 
idmiraUe. Has not the Christian religion toM 
for those who suffered that Christ descended on 
id who among ns is not in some period of his lifei 
>ct to his happiness or his hopes, one of those 
ings who needs relief in the name of God f 
throughout the city and canton of Bcme bears ^ 
serious regularity, of a kind and paternal gor- 
air of probity is felt in every object which we 
lay believe ourselves in our own fiunily while in 
ro hundred thousand men, who, whether nobles, 
isants, are all equally devoted to their country, 

MD of pnblicaUon is allowed ; and the effect his been 
It ftncettral faith and dogmatio theologj from the minds 
I people, though of late jean an evangelioal reaction 
ide, or to be making, considerable progross. The pnb- 
ers, which have been of late yean vastly improved, is of 
in the infltmction of the people. Almost eveiy town in 
own daily newspaper, and of these, flve hsTo acquired a 
ion, if not for the ezooUencs, at least for the importsneo 
These are the Anstrisn OUirvtr snd the Prussian SiaU 
s of their rcspectiTO governments; the Hambnrg Cbrrv- 
Angsbuig and Leipsig Omeral OauUst. Of the number 
ipen and popular instnictivs publications, their nams, 
I, is legion. The higher brsaehes of Issming and of tit 
ittended to bj their rsspsotivs Joumalists.'*-^ Aufrfiyw* 

THE UBIS of IBlBSLAOEaor. 189 

In going to the ftte it was necessaiy to embtik on one of 
those lakes which| reflecting all the beanties of natoiBi seemed 
placed at the foot of the Alps only to moltiply thdr enehant- 
ing forms. A stormy sky deprired ns of a distinct new of fh# 
moontains; bnt^ half enveloped in clondsi fhey appeared the 
more awfolly sablime. Hie storm increased; and, though m 
feeling of terror seized my sod, I eren lored the thmiderboH 
of hearen which confonnds the pride of man. We repoaed 
onrselres for a moment in a kind of grotto, befinre we Tentmed 
to cross-that part of the lake of Than which is sorroonded by 

f*-*-''^essible rocks. It was in such a place that William Tdl \ 
d the abyss, and clang to the rocks in escaping from hia 
ts. We now perceived in the distance that mountain 
I bears the name of the Virgin (Jungfirau)^ becanse no ' 
Her has ever been able to attain its summit; it is not ao. 
as Mount Blanc, and yot it inspires more reneration, be-> y 
we know that it is inaccessible. ' / 

We arrived at Interlachen ; and the sound of the Aar, which 
fiedls in cascades near this little town, disposed the soul to pen- 
sive reflection. A great number of strangers were lodged in 
the rustic but neat abodes of the peasants; it was striking 
enough to see, walking in the streets of Interlachen, young Pa- 
risians at once transported into the valleys of Switzerland. 
Here they heard only the torrents, they saw only the moon- 
tains, and endeavored in those solitary regions to find meana 
of tiring themselves sufliciently to return with renewed pleaa* 
ore to the world. 

Much has been said of an air played on the Alpine hom^ 
which made so lively an impression on the Swiss, that when 
they heard it they quitted Uieir regiments to return to their 
country. We may imagine what effect this air must produce 
when repeated by the echoes of the mountains; but it should 
be heard resounding from a distance ; when near, the sensatian 
which it produces is not agreeable. If sung by Italian Toioea, 
the imagination would be perfectly intoxicated with it ; bat 
perhaps this pleasure would give birth to ideas foreign to tho 
umplicity of the country. We should wish toi the arti| fev 



poetiji kf hftf where we oaght to eenle&i oiinelTee wUh tlit 
Inuiqiiillifejr of a comitiy life. 

Ob the oveBing prooeding the fttOi ilree were Ugfatod on the 
moottteiae; thne it wae that the deliTeren of SwitiorlAiid &r* 
moriy gftfo the aigiwl of their holy eonepinoj. Tbeee firoei 
placed on the heightti rosembled the moon, when, rising bo- 
hind the moantainsi ahe displays herself at onee brilliant and 
peaeeftiL It ipight almost have been thought that new stars 
appeared to lend their aid to the most affeoting sight which 
this worid coold offer. One of these flaming signals seemed 
placed in the heavensi from whence it illnmined the mine of 
the castle of Unsponneni fermeriy possessed by Borthold 
[Berehtold], the feander of Bemci in remembrance of whom 
this fisstiTal was given. Profound daricnoss endroled this 
bright object; and the mountainiii which daring the night ro- 
aomUcd vast phantoms, scorned like the gigantic shades of the 
dcad| whoso memory wo were then celebrating. 

On the day of the fi^to, the wcatlior was mild, but cloudy; 
it seemed as if all nature responded to the tender emotions of 
oveiy heart The inclosuro clioscn for the games is sur- 
rounded by wooded hilln, behind which mountains rise above 
each other as far as tlio sight can roach. All the spoctatorsi 
to the number of nearly six thousand, seated themselves in 
rows on the declivity, and the varied colors of tlicir dress 
looked at a distance like flowers scattered over the mead- 
ows. No festival could ever have worn a more smiling ap- 
pearance ; but when we raised our eyes, the rocks suspended 
above us seemody like destiny, to threaten weak mortals in 
the midst of their pleasures. If there is, however, a joy of 
the soul so pure as to disarm even fate, it was then experi- 

When the crowd of spectators was assembled, the proces- 
sion of the festival was heard approaching from a distance— a 
procession which was in fact a solemn one, for it was devoted 
to the celebration of the past It was accompanied with 
pleasing music; the magistrates appeared at the head of the 
peasants; the young gids were clothed in the ancient and 


piotoroaqao oottumot of thoir oantons ; the halberU and ilii 
bannon of oooh voUoy were carried in front by old men with 
whito httiri and droasod in liabita oxaotly similar to thoao worn 
fire conturioa ago, at tiio time of tho eonspiraoj of tho BntlL 
Tlio soul was filled with omotion on sooing thoso bannof% now 
so poacoful, witli tho agod for thoir guardians. Daya long 
past wero roprosontod by thoso men, old in oomparison with 
oursolves, but when considorod in roforonoe to tho Ii^nm of 
ages, how young I Thcro was an air of trust and roliaiioo in 
all thoso fooblo beings which was touching in tho oxtremo^ bo* 
cause it could only be inspired by the honesty of thoir sonla. 
In the midst of our rejoicing, our eyes filled with tears, jnst 
as tlioy are wont to do on those happy and ^et melancholy 
days when we celebrate the conyalosooneo it those whom 
we love. 

At lost the gomes began ; and the men of the Talleyi and 
those of the mountains, displayed, in lifting enormous weights 
or in wrestling with one anoUier, a degree <tf agility and 
strength of body which was very remarkable. This strength 
formerly rendered nations more military; now, in our dayS| 
when tactics and artillery determine the (iite of armies, it is only 
to be soon in tho games of husbandmen. The earth is bettor 
cultivated by men who are tlius robust, but war cannot be 
mode without tlio aid of discipline and of numbers; and OTon 
the emotions of tho soul have loss empire over human destinyi 
now that individuals have been sunk in eonomunities, and thai 
the human species seems, like inanimate nature^ to be direetod 
by mechanical laws. 

After the games were ended, and tho good bailiff of tho 
pUce had distributed the prizes to the victorsi we dined under 
tents, and sung songs in honor of tho tranquil happiness of ths 
Swiss. During the repast, wooden eups were handed ronndi 
on which were carved William Tell, and the three founders of 
Helvetic liberty. With transport they drank to peaoe, to 
dor, to independence ; and the patriotism of happiness waa 
pressed with a cordiality which penetrated every souL 

''The meadows are as flowery as ever, the mountaina aa 



^ ^hcn all naturo smiles, can tho heart of man alone bo a 

^^^^ nort nndonbtedlyi it was ik^ bo ; the soul ezpandod 

^^ Qonfidenoe in tho midst of this fino country, in the pres- 

^^^ «f these respectable men — all animated with tho purest 

"^^Hients. A oonntrji poor in itself^ and narrow in extonti 

^^OQt Inxarj, without power, without lustre, is cherished by 

^^^^diabitants as a friend who conceals his virtues in the shade, 

^1^ devotes them all to the happiness of those who love hinu 

r^^^ing the five centuries of prosperity which the Swiss have 

^^j^ ed, we may reckon wise generations rather than great 

p[7|^^ There is no room for exceptions where all are thus hap- 

Y^^ The ancestors of this nation may still be said to reign 

^^iQ^ ever respected, imitated, revived in their descendants. 

^ir simplicity of manners, and attachment to ancient cus- 

^ the wisdom and uniformity of their lives, recall the past 

[^^ anticipate the future ; a history which is always the same 

9ns like a single moment^ lasting through ages.' 

,^^^ These words were the refhdn of a song, full of grace and talent, com- 
^|^^^«d fbr this fSKe. The aothor is Madame Harmds, wcU known in Ger- 
^^^xi J bj her writings under the name of Madame de Berlepsch. 

^ We cannot help adding here the following deeeription of Swiss soeneiy, 

'l^haps the finest of the kind ever drawn b/ tho hiuid of a great artist,— 
^m Goethe's Wilkelm Uei»t4r^9 WantUryare : ** Ho succeeds in ropresent- 
^the cheerfal repose of lake prospects, where honsos invfriendljr approx- 
imation, imaging themselves in tho dear wave, seem as if bathing in its 
depths ; shores encircled with green hills, behind which rise forest moon- 
tiins, and icj peaks of glaciers. Tho tone of coloring in such scenes Sa 
gsjT, mirthfollj clear; the distances as if overflowed with softening vapor, 
vhich from watered hollows and river vallejs mounts np grajrer and niist- 
ier, and indicates their windings. No less is the master's art to be praised 
in riewB fh>m vallejrs lying nearer tho high Alpine ranges, where declivi- 
ties slope down, lajrorianti/ overgrown, and fresh streams roU hastily 
along bj the foot of rocks. 

''With exquisite skill, in tho deep shady trees of the foregroond, he 
gives the distinctive character of the several species, satisfying ns in the 
fbrm of the whole, as in the stmotore of the branches, and the detaila of the 
leaves; no less so in the firesh green Vith its manifold ahadings, where 
aoft airs appear as if fanning ns with benignant breath, and the lights as if 
tbeteby put in motion. 

** la the mlddle-groiuid,hialivelj green tone groWBfldntsrbjdegrsas; 


Life flowi oii| m thcao valloya, like the liTen wUdi ma 
throngh them ; uew waves indeed appesTi bat they fellow the 
same course : may they never be interrupted I May the aame 
festival be often celebrated at the foot of the same moantaina 1 
May the stranger admire Uiem as wondersi while the Helro* 
tian cherishes them as an asylum, where magistrates and Cip 
thers watch together over citizens and children I 

and at last, on the more distant moontain-topa, passing Into weak Holat, 
weds itBelf with the blue of the sk/. Bat onr aitist is above all happy In 
his paintings of high Alpine regions ; in sddng the simple greatoeai and 
stillnees of their character ; the wide pastures on the slopes, where dark, 
solitaiy firs stand forth from tho grassy carpet; and ftom high cUlb, 
foaming brooks rush down. Whether he rdievea his pa stura gea with 
grazing cattle, or the narrow winding rockj path with mnks and laden 
paek-horscs, he paints all with eqoal tmth and riohneaa ; still, Intiodaead 
in the proper place, and not in too great oopionsaess, th^ deooiattt and 
enliven these scenes, without intermpting, without lessening their peae^ 
ltd solitude. The execation testifies a master's hand; eaay, with a ftw 
aore strokes, and yet complete. In his later pleoea, he en^lojed gUttar- 
ing English permanent colors, on paper: these pictorea, aooonlinglj, ava 
of pre-^minentlj blooming tone ; chcerfyil, jet, at tha aaoM tlma, alroaf 
and sated. 

** His TiewB of deep moontain chasms, where, round and round, *^*^>»Hf 
fronts us hot dead rook, where, in the ab jss, over-apaaned bj its bold an^ 
the wild stream rages, are, indeed, of less attraction than the flmnsr: yaS 
their tmth excitea na ; we admire the great effect of tha whole, prodaoad 
at so little ooet, by a few expressiTS strokes and masses of local colon. 

** With no less acooraoy of character can ho represent tha rsglons of tlia 
topmost Alpine ranges, where neither tree nor ahmb any more appeaia; 
but only amid the rocky teeth and snow summits, a ftw snnnj spots cloUia 
themselTea with a soft swaid. Beantifbl^ and balmy, and hivUIng aa ba 
colore these spots, he haa here wisely forborne to Introdnoo gnudng hoda ; 
for these regions give food only to the chamoia, and a paiilons SBBpkjBSia 
to the wild-hay-men." ^iU. 


s *Thepoor wfld-bay-muk of the Blgtberg^ 
Whose tnde to, on the trow oftbe sbyM, 
To mow the eonmoa gnm ftom aeeka aad shthre% 
T^ whish the eetUe 4m« aot eilaik'* 

1% VUMafW 











I MIGHT answer this question in a rerj simple manneTi by 
saying that veiy few people in France are acquainted with tho 
German language, and that its beauties, above all in poetrjr^ 
cannot bo translated into French. The Teutonic language^ 
are easily translated into each other; it is the same with th« 
Latin languages ; but these cannot give a just idea of GennaB 
poetry. Music composed for one instrument is not executed 
with success on anodicr of a different sort BesideS| German 
literature has scarcely existed in all its originality more than 
forty or fifty years ; and the French, for the last twenty yearsi 
have been so absorbed in political events, that all fheir literaxj 
studies have been suspended. 

It would, however, be treating the question very super- 
ficially, merely to say that the French are unjust to Geimaa 
literature because they are ignorant of it : they have, it is troe^ 
strong prejudices against it; but these prejudices arise from # 
confused sentiment of the wide difference, both in the maimer 
of seeing and feeling, which exists between the two nationa. 

In Germany there is no standard of taste on any one sub* 
ject ; all is independent, all Is individual T^y Judge of m 
work by the ioQ>re88ion it ^akes, and never byiart ^. oe^ 

m^rSbrtrg^Tillj admittecT^nB?^ aul 
/ Vol, 



to form A D6W sphere for himself. In France, the greater 
mmiber of readers will neither be affected, nor eren amused, 
at the expense of their literary conscience : their scrople 
therein finds a refoge. ^,::A^ttorman a uthor fnrmfl hin gira pab 
lie : in.France the nablic commands authors. As in France 

minds than there are in 
Germany, the pablic exacts much more ; while the German 
writers, emmently raised aboye their judges, goyem instead of 
leceiring the law from them. From thence it happens that 
their writers are scarcely erer improved by criticism : the im- 
patience of the readers, or that of the spectators, nerer obliges 
them to shorten their works, and they scarcely ever stop in 
proper time, because an author, being seldom weary of his own 
conceptions, can be informed only by others when they cease 
to be interesting. From self-lore, the French think and live 
in the opmions of others ; and we perceive in the greater part 
of their works that their principal end is not the subject they 
treat, but the effect they produce. The French writers are 
always in the midst of society, even when they are composing ; 
for they never lose sight of the opinion, raillery, and taste then 
in fashion, or, in other words, the literary authority under 
which we live at such or such a time. 

The first requisite in writing is a strong and lively manner 
of feeling. Persons who study in others what they ought to 
experience themselves, and what they are permitted to say, 
with respect to literature have really no existence. Doubtless, 
our writers of genius (and what nation possesses more of these 
than France 7) have subjected themselves only to those ties 
which were not prejudicial to their originality ; but we must 
compare the two countries en masse, and at the present time, 
to know firom whence arises their difficulty of understanding 
each other. 

In France they scarcely ever read a work but to furnish 

matter for conversation ; ^'?',ffg^^"y> vhflryjpg^MJf JJYft aloiost 

v^l^iDfiJthe work itself must supply the place of company ; and^ 

what mental society can we form with a book, which should 

itself be <mly the echo of society I In the ailenoe oC i^tx^^, 



oothiDg seemB more melancholy than the spirit of the woM* 
The solitary man needs an internal emotion which shall conH 
pensate for the want of exterior excitement. 

Perspicoity is in France one of the first merits of a writer; 
for the first object of a reader is to give himself no trouble, but 
to catch, by running over a few pages in the morning, what 
will enable him to shine in conversation in the evening. Th# 
Germans, on the contrary, know that perspicuity can never 
have more than a relative merit : a book is clear according to 
the subject and according to the reader. Montesquieu cannot 
be so easily understood as Voltaire, and nevertheless he is as 
clear as the object of his meditations will permit Without 
doubt, clearness should accompany depth of thought; bat 
those who confine themselves only to the graces of wit and 
/the play on words, are much more sure of being understood.' 
/They have nothing to do with mystery, — why then should 
/ they be obscure! The Germans, through an pppcmto defect 
/ take pleasure in darkness; they ofien wrap in obscnri^ w^ 
\ was before clea r, rather than follow the beaten road; they 
\ have sucb a ([Tsgust for common ideas, that when they find 
^ themselves obliged to recur to them, they surround them with 
abstract metaphysics, which give them an air of novelty till 
they are found out German writers are under no restraint 
with their readers ; their works being received and conimented 
upon as oracles, they may envelop them with as many doada 
as they like : patience is never wanting to draw these douda 
aside ; but it is necessary, at length, to discover a divinity ; for 
what the Germans can least support, is to see their expect** 
tions deceived : their efibrts and their perseverance render 
some great conclusion needful. If no new or strong thoughts 
are discovered in a book, it is soon disdained ; and if all ii 
pardoned in behalf of superior talent, they scarcely know how 
to appreciate the various kinds of address displayed in endear* 
oring to supply the want of it. . 

The prose of the Germans is often too much neglected. - 
They attach more importance to style in France than in Gkr> 
many ; it is a natural consequenoe ot thib btexv^ «uit«i bij 

lis XAIUiaB SB «TAK.'t cxnuMt. 

wordi^ and the ?aliie thqr most acqalre in a eomikrj when 
■odety it ike ilnl ol)}oet Brerj man with a littk under- 
•taoding ia a Jndgo of the Joatnen or sniUUenoai of nich 
and sach a phrawi while it reqaira much attention and itndy 
to Ukt in the whole compaai and connection of a book. Bo* 
aidcl^ pleaaantrioi find ozproniona mocb sooner than thoqght^ 
and in all that depcndi on worde only, we laqgh before we 

It mnHt be agreed, nerorthekM^ that beantj of style is not 
inere^ an eztenud adTantoge^ for tmo senUments abnost 
always inspire the most noUo.Mid Jnst eipressions; and if wa 
are allowed to bo indulgent to the style of a philosophical 
writing, we ought not to be so to that of a lltoraiy compo- 
sition : in the sphere of tlie fine arts, tlie form in which a 
subject is presented to us b as essential to tlie mind as the 
subject itself. 

Tlio drAmatio art oflors a striking example of the distinct 
faculties of the two nations. All tliat rclatca to Actipn, to in^ 
trigiio, to the interest of evontis is a tliouaand times l>etter 
combined, a tiioumnd times better conceived among the 
French ; all tiiat depends on the development of the impres- 
sionB of the hcart> on die secret storms of strong passion, is 
much better investigated among tiie Gennans, <; 

r'Jn order to attiun tiie highest point of perfection in either ^ 
^untry, it would be necessary for die Frenchman to be re- 
ligious, and the German more a man of the wdH^ Piety 
V>ppose8 itself to levity of mind, which is the defect and the 
grace of the French nation ; the knowledge of men, and of 
society, would give to the Germans that taste and facility in 
literature which is at present wanting to them. The writers 
of the two countries are uqjust to each other i the French, 
nevertheless, are more guilty in this respect than the Germans } 
they judge without knowbg the sol^ect, and examine after 
^ they have decided : the Germans are more impartial Exten- 
sive knowledge presents to us so many diiferent ways of bo> 
holdmg the same ol^ject^ that it imparts to the mind the spirit 
of toleration which springs froos nnlTersali^, 



The French would, howoTeri gain more by oomprehonding 
Gorman goniiu, than the Germans woold in labjocting them* 
•dves to the good taste of the French. In our days, when- 
ever a little foreign leaven has been allowed to mix itself with 
French regalarity, tlie French have themselves applauded it 
with delight J. J. Kousseau, Bomardin do Saint PierrOi C3ia* 
teaubriand, etc., are, in some of their works, even unknown to 
themselves, of the German school ; that is to say, they draw 
their talent only out of the internal sources of the soul. Bat 
if German writers were to be disciplined according to the pro- 
hibitory laws of French literature, they would not know how 
to steer amid the quicksands that would be pointed out to 
them ; they would regret the open sea, and their minds would 
bo mudi more disturbed than enlightened. It does not follow 
that they ought to ha»ird all, and Uiat they would do wrong 
in sometimes imposing limits on themselves; but it is of con- 
sequence to them to be placed according to their own modes 
of perception. In order to induce them to adopt certain 
necessary restrictions, we must recur to tlie principle of thoao 
restrictions without employing tlie autliority of ridioule, which 
is always highly offensive to them. 

Men of genius in all countries ore formed to understand and 
esteem each other ; but the vulgar class of writers and readon^ 
whether German or French, bring to our recollection that fiip 
ble of La Fontaine, where the stork cannot eat in the d!sh| nor 
tlie fox in the bottle. The most complete contrast is peroehrod 
between minds developed in solitude, and those formed by 
ciety. Impressions i^m external objects, and the inwaid 
collections of the soul, the knowledge of men and abatraet ideai^ 
action and theory, yield conclusions totally opposite to each 
other. The literature, the arts, the philosophy, the religion, of 
these two nations, attest this difference ; and the etmal bona* 
dary of the RUne separates two intellectual regions, whiehi'BO 
less than the two countries, are foreign to each other. 



OF THB JUDoaaan formsd bt ran vsaum ok thb suBJior 


GcmcAN literature is mach better known in England than 
in France.* In England, the foreign languages are more stad- 
ied, and the Germans are more natorally connected with the 
English, than with the French ; nevertheless, prejudices exist 
eren in England, both ag^ainst the philosophy and the litera- 
ture of Germany. It may be interesting to examine the cause 
of them. 

The minds of the people of England are not formed by a 
taste for society, by the pleasure and interest excited by con- 
Tcrsation. Business, parliament, the administration, fill all 
heads, and political interests are the principal objects of their 
meditations. The English wish to discover consequences im- 
mediately applicable to every subject, and from thence arises 
their dislike of a philosophy, which has for its object the beau- 
tiful rather than the useful 

The English, it is true, do not separate dignity from utility, 
and they are always ready, when it is necessary, to sacrifice 
the useful to the honorable ; but they are not of those, who, 
as it is said in Hamlet, " with the i pcoiyora l air d o hold dis- 
^arse " — a sort of conversation of which the Germans are very 
[ond. The philosophy of the English is directed towards re- 
sults beneficial ta the cause of humanity : the Germans pursue 
truth for its own sake, without thinking on the advantages 
which men may derive from it. The nature of their different 
governments having offered them no great or splendid oppor- 

* It is now much hotter knowa in both oonatrUs Uuui when lUdamo do 
fitoil wroto.— jML 


tonity of attaining glory, or of serring their conntiyy tliflj a^ 
tach themselTes to contemplation of eyery kind ; and, to in- 
dulge it, seek in heaven that space which their limited destinj 
denies to them on earth. They take pleasure in the ideal, be- 
cause there is nothing in the actnal state of things which 
speaks to their imagination. The English, with zeaioiii pridd 
themselres in all they possess, in all they are, and in all that tbej 
may become ; they place their admiration and lore on their 
laws, their manners, and their forms of worship. These noble 
sentiments give to the sonl more strength and eneigy ; bat 
thought, perhaps, takes a bolder flight, when it has neither 
limit nor determinate aim, and when incessantly connecting 
itself with the immense and the infinite, no interest brings it 
back to the affairs of this world. 

Whenever an idea is consolidated, or, in other words, when 
it is changed into effect, nothing can be better than to exam- 
ine attentively its consequences and conclusions, and then to 
circumscribe and fix them ; but when it is merely in theory, 
it should be considered in itself alone. Neither practice nor 
utility are the objects of inquiry ; and the pursuit of tmth in 
philosophy, like imagination in poetry, should be free from all 

X ' The Ger mans are to the human mind what pioneem are to 
e n a < i nj ! t n ey try new roacis, they try unknowii means : ' 
can we^l&vpid^betogjssiloas to .Kow jfha J LJ hB g Lflaj^ Oil Ui gT 
l!^5lAfn from their excursions into the infinite 7 The ISnglMtft^ 
who have so much originality of character, have neverthdeas 
generally a dread of new systems. Justness of thought has 
been so beneficial to them in the affairs of life, that thqf like 
to discover it even in intellectual studies ; and yet it is in these 
that boldness is inseparable from genius. Qenius, provided it 
respect religion and morality, should be fi^ to take aqr Alight 
it chooses : it aggrandizes the empire of thought. 

Literature, in Germany, is so impressed with the reigning 
philosophy, tiiat the repugnance felt for the one will faflgt^H^ 
the judgment we form of the other. The English have, how- 
ever, for some time, translated the German poets with pleafon^ 

1S3 lEADAia BB staxl'b gsbmaht. 

tnd do not fiul to peiceiTe that analogy which ought to result 
fiom one oommoii origin. There is more sensibility in the 
English poetry, and more imagination in that of Germany. 
Domestie affections holding great sway orer the hearts of the 
English, their poetry is impressed with the delicacy and per- 
manency of those affections ; the Germans, more independent 
in all things, because they bear the impress of no political in- 
stitation, paint sentiments as well as ideas through a dood : it 
might be said that the nnirerse radllates before their eyes ; 
and eren, by the nncertainty of their sight, those objects are 
mnltiidied, which their talent renders nseftd to its own pnr- 

The princq>le of terror, which is employed as one of the 
great means in German poetry, has less ascendency orer the 
imagination of the English in onr days. They describe nature 
with enthusiasm, but it no longer acts as a formidable power 
which incloses phantoms and presages within its breast ; and 
holds, in modem times, the place held by destiny among the 
ancients. Imagination in England is almost always inspired 
by sensibility ; the imaginations of the Germans is sometimes 
rude and wQd : the religion of England is more austere, that 
of Germany more raguo ; and the poetry of the two nations 
must necessarily bear the impression of their religious senti- 
ments. In England conformity to rule does not reign in the 
arts, as it does in France ; ncTcrtheless, public opinion holds a 
greater sway there than in Germany. National unity is the 
cause of it. The English wish, in all things, to make princi* 
pies and actions accord with each other. Theirs is a wise and 
well-regulated nation, which comprises glory in wisdom, and 
liberty in order : the Germans, with whom those ore only sub- 
jects of rererie, hare examined ideas independent of their ap- 
plicaUon, and haye thus attained a higher elevation in theory. 
>^ It will appear strange, that the prefient men of literature in 
Germany, hare shown themselves more averse than the En- 
glish to the introduction of philosophical reflections in poetry. 
It is true, that men of the highest genius in English literature, 
Shakqpearei Milton, Dryden in his OdeS| etc, are poets, who 

n-.-y "^r 


do not giTe themselTes up to a qririt of axgomentatioii ; but 
Pope, and many others, must be considered as didactic poeti 
and moralists. The Germans hare renewed their yoath, the 
English are become mature.* The Qermans profess a do^rine 
which tends to reyire enthusiasm in the arts as well as in phi* 
losophy, and they will merit applause if they socceed ; for this 
age lays restraints also on them, and there was nerer a period 
in which there existed a greater inclination to despise all that 
is merely beantifal ; none in which the most common of all 
qnestionsi Whai it ii good for 1 has been more freqaeatly it- 



Gerkak litorataro has neyor had what we are accnstomed 
to call a golden ago ; that is, a period in which the progress 
of letters is encouraged by the protection of the sorereign 
power. Leo X, in Italy, Louis XIY, in France, and, in an- 
cient times, Pericles and Augustus, have giren their names to 
the age in which they lived. We may also consider the reign 
of Queen Anne as the most brilliant epoch of English liter»> 
ture ; but this nation, which exists by its own powers has 
nerer owed its great men to the influence of its kings. Ger- 
many was divided ; in Austria no love of literature was disoor- 
ered, and in Frederick II (who was all Prussia inhimself alone), 
no interest whatever for German writers. Literature, in Ger- 
many, has then never been concentrated to one pohit, and has 
never found support in the State. Perhaps it owes to tUa 

* The Engliflh poota of our times, without entering lato oonoert with tlia 
Germ ana, h ato adopted the uuna ■jttom. Didaotio pot trr has dvtn plaoa 
to the fictions of toe middle agea, to the empurpled eoiora of the Saei| 
reasoniog, and eloquenoe itaeU; are not sufliolent to an tinrntially ereaHv^ 



151 iTAnAiftt DX STAKl'b OSBMANT. 

abaDdonmeDty as well as to the independence oonseqnent on 
it^ much of its originality and energy. 

** We have seen poetry," says Sdiiller, " despised by Fred- 
erick, the farored son of his country, fly from the powerful 
throne which refused to protect it ; but it still dared to call 
itself German ; it felt proud in bciog itself the creator of its 
own glory. The song^ of German bards, resounded on the 
summits of the mountain, were precipitated as torrents into 
the Talleys ; the poet, independent, acknowledged no law, sare 
the imfHressions of his own sont-Hio sorereign, but his own 


It naturally followed from the want of encouragement giren 
by gOTemment to men of literary talent in Germany, that 
their attempts were made prirately and indiyidually in differ- 
ent directions and that they arrired late at the truly remarka- 
ble period of their literature. 

The German language, for a thousand years, was at first 
caltiYated by monks, then by knights, and afterwards by arti- 
sans, such as Hans-Sachs, Sebastian Brand, and others, down 
to the period of the Reformation ; and latterly, by learned 
men, who hare rendered it a language well adapted to all the 
sabtleties of thought. 

In examining the works of which German literature is com- 
posed, we find, according to the genius of the author, traces of 
these different modes of culture ; as we see in mountains strata 
of the Tarious minerals which the revolutions of the earth hare 
deposited in them. The style changes its nature almost en- 
tirely, according to the writer ; and it is necessary for foreign- 
ers to make a new stody of erery new book which they wish- 
to understand. 

The Gcnnans, like the greater part of the nations of Europe 
in the times of chitalry, had also their troubadours and war- 
riors, who song of lore and of battles. An epic poem has 
latdy been discorered, called Me Nibdmmgm Lied, which was 
composed in the thirteenth century ; we see in it the heroism 
sod fidefiiy which distinguished the men of those times^ when 
aS was ss tHM^ strong, and detcnBtDste^ as the primtttTS eolofs 


of natore. The German, in this poem, it more dear and aim- 
pie than it is at present : general ideas were not yet introdnoed 
into it| and traits of character onlj are narrated. The Gennaa 
nation might then hare been considered as the meet wailikA 
of all Earopcan nations, and its ancient traditions speak only 
of castles and beautiful mistresses, to whom thej deroted their 
lives. When Maximilian endeaTored at a later period to ra- 
vire chivalry, the human mind no longer possessed that ten* 
dency ; and those religious disputes had already conune&oed, 
which direct thought towards metaphysics, and place tfat 
strength of the soul rather in opinions than in actions.' 

1 •* The unknown Singer of the ^ibdimgm^ though no Shtkqpoare, 
hftTe had a deep poetic tool ; wherein things diieontinaont and l'*T***Tnttt 
■haped themselTei together into iife, and the Unirene with ita woadroMT 
purport stood ligniflcantly imaged ; OTer-arehlng, as with hcayenlj Anna* 
ments and eternal harmonies, the little soene where men strat and Iket 
their hoar. His Poem, unlike so many old and new pretenders te thai 
name, has a basis and organic stmctore, a beginning, middlOf and tad; 
there is one great principle and idea set forth in it, roond which all Ha 
multifarious parts combine in living union, remarkable It Is, mortorefy 
how long with this essence and primary condition of all poetio Tirtaa, the 
minor external virtues of what we caU Taste, and so forth, art, as It ware, 
presupposed ; and the living soul of Poetry being there, Its body U Inol* 
dents, its garment of language, come of their own accord. • . • WItk 
an instinctiTe art, far different firom acquired artifice, thia Pott of the 
JVide/ungfn, working in the same province with his eoattmporarits of the 
HeldetUnich^ on the same material of tradition, has, In a wonderfU dtgrtty 
possessed himself of what these could only strive alter; and with his 
* clear feeling of fioUUous truth ' avoided aa ihlse the trron and moattroaa 
perplexities in which they vainly struggled. . . . Tht langnagt of the 
Htldadmeh was a feeble half-articulate child's speech, tht metro aothiac 
better than a miserable doggerel ; whereas here in the old FranUsh ((Nar^ 
dutick) dialect of the Nibdungmf we have a clear deolsifo ntttraaeo, asA 
in a real system of verse, not without essential regularity, gresi IJTtlliif , 
and now and then even harmony of rhythm. Doubtless wt mntt oflea 
oaU it a diflfVise diluted utterance ; at the same time It la gtauino, wtth a* 
certain antique garrulous heartiness, and has a rhythm la tht thoogihts sa 
weU aa the words. The simplicity Is never silly, even la that ptipelaal 
recurrence of epithets, sometimes of rhymes, aa where two words, for iB» 
stance Ub (body, life Mb) and to^ (woman, wife, tod^) art Indlisolnhlj 
wedded together, and the one never shows Itself without tht othtr feUew^ 
lng--thert Is something which reminds ns not so mnoh of poverty, as ef 
trustfulness and childlike innocence. Indeed a ftraoge oharm Uta la Ikoia 
old tonti, where, la gaj daadag melodies, the stenssl tidings sie sng la 


•errieBt to theological dkcoHioB : kk tnndmtioii of tlie Ftelmo 
andtlMBibleii^afiiie^oeiiiiaioftl. The poetical truth 
and eoDciseiie« which he girea to hie atfle, are, in all ieq>ccti| 
eonfbnnafale to the geniosof theGennan bingnagei and orcn 
the sound of the woide haa an indeacribablo aort of energetic 
£ranknc«| on which we with confidence relj. The political 
and religiooa wan, whidi the Germans had the misfortune to 
wage with each othert withdrew the minds of men from litera- 
ture; and when it was again rosomed, it was under the aus- 
pices of the age of Louis XIY, at the period in which the 
desire of hnitating the French perraded afanost all the courts 
and writers of Europe. 

The works of Hagedom, of Ocllert, of Weiss, eta, wore 
onlyheaTy French, nothing original, nothing conformable to 
j^natvural genius of thelia{Idn7 "llioee authors endcATored 
to atta&T FNmcfa^ gnoe Wiih6nt being inspired with it, either 
bjr their habits or their modes of life. Tbej subjected them- 
selTCS to rule, without haring cither the elegance or taste 
which maj render even that despotism agreeable. Anotbcr 
school soon succeeded that of the French, and it was in Ger- 
manic Switzerland that it was erected : this school was at flrst 

; and deep floods of B*dneM and Hirlfe play lightly in Utile corllnff bil* 
lowl^ like neaii in ■qmmer. It ie an a meek Pinilo, In wlioeo itlll, thougUt- 
Idl dcpthi a whole InQnltudo of pationco, and love, and licrolc ttrength lie 
rarealed.*'— (CaWy^c'i Enay^ 8?o edition, p. 240.)— A:<I. 

> ** Uts, Oeilert, Cramer, Ramlor, Klolut, llagodorn, Rabener, Qlolm, and 
a nnltitade of lewer men, whatoTer •xcellonocn they might want, eortalnly 
ara not chargeable with bad taete. K07, perhaps of all writeri they ara 
tha least chargeable with it 1 a oertain olear, light, unalTocted elegance, of 
a higher nature than French elegance, it might be, yet to the exclusion of all 
werj deep or genial qualities, was the excellence they stroTO after, and for 
the most part, in a fUr measure attained. They resemble KngllHh writers 
of the same, or perhaps an earlier period, more than any other foreigners 1 
apart from Pope, whose influence is Tisible enough, Deattle, Logan, Wllkle, 
Clover, nnknowB perhaps to any of them, might otherwise have almost 
peemed their modehu Goldsmith also wonld rank among them ; perhaps, 
la regard to tme poetic genius, at their head, for aone of them has left ua 
a Ficar qf IKoAvUM/ though, In regard to judgment, knowledge, gesertl 
Sitoat, kit plaot weuld sosroeljr bt so kigk.'MiM.) p. tt.)-JEil. 


fonndod on an imitation of EngUsh wnten. Bodmer, nip> 
ported bj the example of the groat Haller, endeaTOfed to diow, 
that English literature agreed better with the German genina 
than that of France. Gotteched,* a leamod man, without tasto 
or genius, contested this opinion, and groat light sprang from 
the dispute between these two schools. Some men then began 
to strike out a now road for themscWes. Elopetock held the 
highest place in the English school, as Wieknd did in that of 
the French ; but Klopstock opened a now career for hia ano- 
cessors, while Wieland was at onco the first and the last of the 
French school in the eighteenth century. The firsti becaoie 
no other could equal him in that kind of writing, and tho lait^ 
because after him the German writers pursued a path wlddj 

As there still exist in all the Teutonic nations some apaiki 
of that sacred fire, which is again smothered by the aahea of 
time, Klopstock, at first fanitating the English, succeeded at 
lost in awakening the imagination and character peculiar to 
the Germans ; and almost at the same moment, Winckelmann 
in the arts, Leasing in criticism, and Goethe in poetrj, founded 
a true German school, if wo may so call that which admits of 
as many differences ad there are indiriduals or Tarletlei of 
talent. I shall examine separately, poetry, the dramatic art, 
novels, and history ; but every man of genius oonstitatlog, it 
may be said, a separate school in Germany, it aiqieara to bm 
ncccKsary to begin by pointing out some of the principal traita 
which distinguish each writer individually, and hj penooalfy 
characterizing their most celebrated men of literature^ betet 
I 0ot about analyzing their works. 

1 " Qottsoliod hM bo«n doad iht grooUr part of tht Q%tktuj \ 
iMt fifty yoart, ranks among the Qermani aomowhat as Pryoas ar 
dor Rom dooa among ounolToi. A man of a oold, rigid, perNveraal shs^ 
aoior, who mlilook himiolf for a pool and tbo perftoUoa of eiUloB, tai 
had ikilUto paM oarront dnring the groaUr part of hit Utorarj lUk flw laahi 
On tho ■trongth of bit DoUoan and UatUox, ho long rtlgnod snprasM | Ivi 
it waa Uko Night, in rayloM majoaty, and o?or a alumbtriaf people* fhif 
awoko, boforo hia death, and hnrlod him, porhaps too iBdlfasBtty, Isle Ml 
aaUf ibyM."— (0«r^*a J?Mayi, Ivo oditioa, ^ U.)-^M. 

# ' 

1S8 KABiAiiB OB ruel's cuoocijnr. 



Of all the Oennans who hare written after the French 
manner, Wiehind is the onlj one whose worke hare genins ; ' 
and although he has almost alwajs imitated the literataro of 
foreign conntries, we cannot aroid acknowledging the great 
senriccs he has rendered to that of his own nation, bj impror- 
bg its language, and giving it a yorsification more flowing and 
harmonious. There was already in Germany a crowd of wri- 
ters, who endearored to follow the traces of French literature, 
such as it was in the age of Louis XIV. Wicland is the first 
who introduced, with success, that of the eighteenth century. 
In his prose writings ho bears some resemblance to Voltaire, 
and in his poetry to Ariosto ; but those resemblances, which 
are Yoluntary on his part, do not prevent him from being by 
natare completely German. Wieland is infinitely better in* 
formed than Voltaire ; he has studied the ancients with more 
erudition than has been done by any poet in France. Neither 
the defects, nor the powers of Wieland allow him to give to 
his writings any portion of the French lightness and grace. 

In his philosophical novels, Agathon and Percgrinus Pro* 
tens, he begins very soon with analysis, discussion, and meta- 
physics. He considers it as a duty to mix with them passages 
wMch we commonly caM flowery ; but we are sensible that his 
natoral disposition would lead him to fathom all the depths of 
the subject which he endeavors to treat. In the novels of 
Wieland, seriousness and gayety are both too decidedly ex- 
pressed ever to blend with each other ; for, in aU things, 
though contrasts are striking, .contrary extremes are weari- 

In order to imitate Voltaire, it is neoeasaiy to possess a saiw 

y/lKLAXD* 169 


castio and philosophical irony, which renders ni earelan of 
erery thing, except a poignant manner of expressing that Iroiqr. 
A German can neror attain that brilliant freedom of pleat- 
antry ; ho is too mnch attached to tmth, he wishes to know 
and to explain what things are, and eren whoi he idopti 
reprehensible opinions, a secret repentance slackens his pace 
in spite of himself. The Epicurean philosophy does not sdt 
the German mind ; they giro to that philosophy a dogmatieal 
character, while in reality it is scdnctivo only when it presents 
itself nndcr light and airy forms : as soon as yon InTOSt it with 
principles it is equally displeasing to all 

The poetical works of Wieland hare much more grace and 
originality than his prose writings. Oberon and the other 
poems, of which I shall speak separately, are charming, and 
full of imagination. Wieland has, howerer, been reproached 
for haying treated the subject of lore with too little sereri^, 
and he is naturally thus condemned by his own countrymen, 
who still respect women a little after the manner of their 
ancestors ; but whaterer may have been the wanderings of 
imagination which Wieland allowed himself, we cannot aroid 
acknowledging in him a large portion of true sensibili^ : he 
has often had a good or bad intention of Jesting on the sub- 
ject of love ; but his disposition, naturally serious, prerents 
him from giving himself boldly up to it He resembles that 
prophet who found himself obliged to bless where he wished 
to curse, and he ends in tenderness what was hegosk in irony. 

In our intercourse with Wieland we are charmed, predsely 
because his natural qualities are in opposition to his philoio- 
phy. This disagreement might be prejudicial to hfan as a 
writer, but it renders him more attractire in society ; he is 
animated, enthusiastic, and, like all men of genius, still young 
eyen in his old age ; yet he wishes to be skeptical, and is im* 
patient with those who would employ Us fine imsginatioii in 
the establishment of his faith. 

Naturally benerolent, he is ncTcrtheless susceptible of Qt 
humor ; sometimes, because he is not pleased with himself, and 
sometimes because he is not pleased with others : he is not 

lunAXB m txjjBL's cffBicijnr. 

tt UbmU; beeaim he wooU williiigly irriTe at a 
Iw rib cU o tt in tbo mftiuMr of cxp rM riD g hif thoagbti^ 
■jiWwir wccdi nor thingi we loeoeptible. He doM 
e to ntbQr Umnlf with thooe indefinite temu^ wUeh 
grae belterwith the nrt of conTenation then perfee* 
Ft he ii eometfanee diepleued with othen^ becanee 
M^whkhiialitaerebund,andbie sentimenti, which 
r entted, are not alwaji easily reconciled. He coin 
dn hfanedf a Freadi poet and a Oerman philoeopher 
iltanately aogiy with each other ; hot this anger Is 
eai7 to beer ; and his disconrse, filled with Ideas and 
s^ n^ght sqpplj many men of talent with a fonndip 
OBfenatioii of Tarioos sorts.' 

Hid| b«ni io ITSS, •arly dlspUfed tht ebsrtetsrifties of his kter 
pranded to that flaetoAUiig ImiUtkm whloh, throagh Hit. wm 
tloo. He eonfened that he eould read nothing with delieht 
not eet him to woric at imitating it ; and ail his worica are imlta* 
>egan his studies at three jean of age, and at seren, read Cor- 
MM with enthitf iasm. Between his twelfth and sixteenth years 
11 the Roman writers, with Voluire, Fontenelle, and Bayle. 
and Addison followed ; and, in his seTenteenth jrear, he wrote 
a of Lucretius (1761), and played offBayle and Leibniti against 
to the delight of a public which had the sublime stupidity to 
I as the * German Lucretius.* The young Realist boldly pro- 
at happiness was the aim of Creation, the greatest psalm which 
ung in the Creator's glory. Ho changed about, howoTor, and 
»r to the Pietists for a time ; but the iroitatlTe tendency which 
lither, as readily led him away again to Xenophon, Anacroon, 
d the French. lie stood in terror of Leasing ; and his own dls- 
Iso, raoTcd him towards lighter, eheerfbller Tiews of life. Lm- 
lade him acquainted with Snalispeare, and bis prose translation 
iatest poet, which appeared in 1762-66, was the best serrioe he 
bis nation. 

6S Wieland was brought into contact with *good society* 
rraf Stadion, and made acquaintance not only with the worlds 
lany English and French writers of the moral deistical school, 
leted his emancipation from the Pietists, and taught him how to 
the world.* He became the faTorite poet of good sooiety. His 
poems were all animated with aa Bplcnreaa moralitr, and 
th s eertaln lightness and graoe (Oerman lightness and Oerman 
ej noTer lost the natlomu ebaraoter) wbtoh ffradrntlly paised 
ocss ioto Tolnptoons&ess aad obscenity^— qualities not less ao- 
sthfMS of Ms ftadsfs, In spits of the Indignation tkyreessd 



sLOPaioaK. 161 

The new writers, who hare ezdoded all for^gn fafln en o 
from Oerman literature, hare been often niijaBt to "Wldand ; 
it is he, whose works, eren in a translation, hare ezdted tha 
interested of all Europe ; it is he who has rendered the sdeaoo 
of antiquity subeenrient to the charms of literatore ; it it be 
also, who, in verse, has given a musical and graeefiil flexibility 
to his fertile but rough language. It is neyertbeloss true, that 
his countrj would not be benefited by possessing many imitap 
tors of his writing^ : national originality is a mneh better 
thing ; and we ought to wish, even when we acknowledge 
Wieland to be a great master, that he mar have no disc^pka. 



Ik Germany, there hare been many more remarkable men 
of the English then of the French school. Among the writers 
formed by English literature, wo must first reckon the admins 
ble Haller, whose poetic genius served him so eflldctoally, as 
a learned man, in inspiring him with the greatest enthnstasni 
for the beauties of nature, and the most extensive views of its 
various phenomena ; Gossnor, whose works are even more val* 

in sterner circlet. He appealed, indeed, piteoosly against bis eridoi, froos 
his h^ writings to his moral life, and wished the j * could see bimlo his 
quiet domestic home ; they would then judge otherwise of him.* In tnitii^ 
his life was blameless, and he might, wttb Martial, have tbrowa Ums 
blame of his writings on his readers : 

* SerU aim poitlm, qnod deltetaatli 
8crlb«r« ; to Musa M, lfel«r anilM, nlhl 
Qui legts •! tola oanta> noa eanalna Bonai* 

At the same time of Qoethe*s appearance, Wieland was in his bad odor, 
as we bsTO before noted ; but he liTed through iL asd wrote bis i 
pieoe. C^ftsron, when Goethe was with him in Weimar.'*— (Q* IL 
<7esMi*s lA/t mnd Wvrki, vol. L p. MS.)— JU 

ICa lEADAia DB n*AXL's GXBiaVT. 

Qed hi Franee than in Oermany ; Oleim, Bamler, eto^ and 
abofo Uiem all, Klopstock. 

Hk genius was inflameA bj reading Milton and Yoong ; bat 
it was with bim that the true Qerman school first began. Ha 
mxpnan, in a rerj happj manner, in one of his odei^ the eoi- 
■latkNi of the two Moses. 


** I taw— oh I Mw I what the pretent Tiewst 

Saw I the fatare ? — for, with eager sool, 
' I aaw the Germaa with the British Muie 

Fljing Impetaooa to the goaL 

''Two goala before me did the prospect eloee, 

And crownM the race : the oalu o'ershadowM one 
With their deep rerdore : roond the other rose 
Tall palms beneath the erening son. 

"Used to the strife, the Muse of Albion stepi 
Proud to the lists : as on the burning sand 
With the Meooitn once,' and her who kept 
The Capitol, she took her stand. 

** Her younger riyal panted as she came, 
Yet panted manly ; and a crimson hoe 
Kindled upon her check a noble flame ; 
Her golden hsir behind her flew. 

''She stroTe with laboring bosom to contain 

Her breath, and leant her forward to the priie. 
The Herald raised his trumpet, and the plain 
Swam like a dream before her ejes. 

** Proud of the bold One, of herself more proud, 

The Briton with her noble gUnce regards * 

Thee, Tuiscon^ : ' Halin that oak-wood 
I grew with thee among the Bards, 

'"Bnt the fame reach'd me, that thou wert no morst 
Muse, who livest while the ages roll, 
ForgiTe me that I learnt it not before : 
Now will I learn it at the goal I 

> We adopt the fuaioa enCr.WBL Hind. Od$t tf BeptML Londw. 
1S4S, p. n.-.£d. • -n— • 


" ■ It (Undi bofora ui. But the further crows i 

Eocst Ihou beyond J That eoumgo i«]f-po«Mt'^ 
ThBt nllenca proud, and Qcr/ look oaal down, 
I know Iho mcinlng tbej eoafcu'd. 

" ' Tet weigh Ihe hmrd oro the herald loiuid I 
Wu I not her competitor who Sll« 
Tbormopyln with long : 4nd hen ronowaM 
Who roigns upon the Sovcd IliiliT* 
" 6hs sptke. The niDnicDt ot decision atem 

Cune wlifa the lierald. And with cyei «f An, 
* I loTs thee,' qulclr Teulonft did return ; 
' I lOTO thee, Britoo, tnd mdiiiin) : 

" ' Bat jet not more than iiamorlklit;^! 

And those fair p&lnu I Reach, if Ihj geniu \tni. 
Beach them before mo I but when tboa doit, I ' 

Will snatch ulth thee the gatlaad meed. 

" ■ And — how ni7 heart agalDit !t« barrier knockil— 
Perchance 1 ahall bo Grat to gain the wreath \ ■ 
Shall feel behind me on laj etreaming lock! 
The fervor of thy panting breath.' 

" The herald aounda ; they flew with eagle flight ; 
Behind them into clouda the diut was toii'd. 
I looked ; but when the oaks were paaa'd, my dgfat 
la dimneM of the duit was lost." 

It is thus that tlio ode finishes, and there is s grace Is not 
pointiog oat the victor. 

I refer the elimination of Elopstock's works, in a literaij 
point of tIcw, to tho chapter on German poetry, and I DOW 
confine mjtelf to pointing them out as the actions of his 
life. The aim of all his works is either to awaken patriotism 
in his coantiy, or to celebrate religion : if poetry hud its saints, 
Klopstock wotild certainly be reckoned one of die first of them. 

Tbo greater part of his odes may bo considered as Christian 
psalms; Elopslock is the David of the New Testament; but 
that which honors his character abore all, without speaking ot 
his genius, is a religious hymn, nndor the form of an epio 
poem, called the Meuiai, to which he devoted twenty yean. 
Hie Christian world already poseeaaed two poems, tht' Infemo 


of Dute, and H&ton's Paradise Lost : one was M of images 
and phaatooii^ like the external rdtgion of the Italians. Ifil- 
tooy who had liTed la the midst of dfil wan, abore all exoeDed 
in tiie painting of his characters ; and his Satan is a gigantic 
id)el, anned against the monarchy of hearen. Klopstock has 
conceived the Christian sentiment in all its poAij ; he conso- 
crated his sool to the difine Satior of men. The fitthers of 
the Chodi inqiired Dante ; the Bible inqxired Milton : the 
greatest beauties of Sllopstock's poem are deriTed from the 
New Testament ; from the divine simplid^ of the Ooqpd, he 
knew how to draw a charming strain of poetrjy which does not 
lessen its purity. In bq^faming this poem, it seems as if we 
wen enterfaig a great dmrch, in the midst of whkh an oigaii 
is heard ; and that tender emotion, that devout meditation, 
whidi inqnres us in our Christian temples^ also pervades the 
soul as we read the Hcssios. Klopstock, in his joutbi pro* 
posed to himself tbis poem as the object and end of his exist- 
ence. It appears to me that men would acquit themselves 
worthllj, with respect to this life, if a noble object, a grand 
idea of any sort, distinguished their passage through the world ; 
and it is already an honorable proof of character to bo able to 
direct towards one enterprise oU the scattered rays of our fae* 
ulties, the results of our labor. In whatever manner wo Judge 
of the beauties and defects of the Mcssias, we ought frequently 
to read over some of its rorscs : the reading of the whole work 
may be wearisome, but every timo that wo return to it, we 
bnntho a sort of perfume of the soul, which makes us fed an 
attraction to all tilings holy and celestial. 

After long labors, after a great number of years, Elopstock 
at length condudod his poem, Iloraeo, Ovid, eto^ have ex* 
pressed in various manners, the noble pride which seemed to 
insure to them the inunortal duration of their works c 

** Sx6gi monumentum nre porsnulns )" > 

** Komenqne erlt IndellUle nostran."* 


> ** I have trioud a monumMil moie dnimble than bffsssi** 
• •^The OMMoiy ^Biiy UMtts shdl be ladaUbto.'' 



A sentiment of a rery different natnie penetrated the Kml «f 
Bllopetock when his Messias was finished. He e^ pw o seattttoi 
in his Ode to the Redeemer, which is at the end of hk poevi t' 

** I hop«d U for thee I and I hare tiuig, 
beATenly Redeemer, the new OoTiiiaoi*s soaf I 
Through the fearful course bare I mn ; 
And thoa bast my stambling forgtreo ! *« 

** Begin the first harp-eonnd, 
warm, winged, eternal gratitude I 
Begin, begin, m j heart gushes forth I 
And I weep with rapture I • 

** I implore no reward ; I am already rewardedt 
With aogel Jojr, for thee hare I sung I 
The whole soul*s emotion 
S*en to the depths of its first power 1 

** Commotion of the Inmost, the beaTea 
And earth for me ranished t 
And no more were spread the wings of the Storm ; with flintlut 

Lilce the Spring-time*s morning, breathed the lephyr of life. 

I No approTed metrical Tenilon of Klopstock's Hymn being at baadi wo 
haTo undertaken a literal trannlatlon. We know how unsatlafiMstorj Moh 
a rondoring must be to thoso who are able to e^joy the original, yet ilia— 
or aims to be— an exaot translation of the sense. The good translattona ef 
poetry, those fulfllUng all the roquiremonts of a proper standard, are ^orj 
few ; thoy might all bo counted on the fingers of one band. In a poem 
are many things to bo ronderod,— sense, rhythm, measure, rbymoy tad, 
above all, that inner spirit, which poets alone can give, which poetic mlada 
alone can feel,— all of which most be reproduced in another tongue fai 
order to make a perfect translation. A sense and a measure, usually bvt a 
distorted shadow, or a fttlnt semblance, of Me sense and th§ measure, are 
usually given, and we are urged to belle?e thai we haTO a fklthlid image of 
the original. BomeUmos we get the measure, sometimes the senso, bil 
rarely indeed the two combined. If we can ha?e but one thing, lei «■ 
haye the sense. And often something of the melody of the original oliagi 
to a literal Torsion, especially when the transUtion is made into a eegnato 
language i when sound and sense are really wedded ia a poemi one eauMi 
be falthftiUy transferred, without it retaining at least a ** shadowy rtooUeo- 
tlou,** a pUtonio remembrance, of the other. In Iraaslatiog tUa pieoo ef 
Klopstook, we hare presonred to the eye, aad ia part to the ur, tko Uaee if 
the original ; we ha?e followed as closely as possible the Mceesilea of wof4i| 
MhMf§ iBlerropted tha maiMxa whsMTar tko mom fHiiired HL^mJ B i^ 

1€6 XADAXB DS flTASL'fl omUVT. 

** Hb knows not all mj gratitade, 
To whom 'tit Imt «Km/y roTMlod, 
llial, when In lU full fooling 
Hie aonl o'erflowi, Rpeooh oan onljr ttAmBMr. 

** Bowardod am I, rowardod t I liavo leea 
Tho toart of Chrlti 6owlng, 
And daro jonder In tho Futors 
Look for tean dlvlno I 

** E'en throQgh iorreiitrlal Joy : In Tain ooooeal I ftom ihm 
Uf heart, of amblUon full : 
In jronth It beat load and high ; In manhood 
Hat It beaten erer, onl/ more fabdued. 

'* If there be any pralio, If there be any vlrtoo, 
On these things think t the flame divine ehuse I for my guide I 
High wared the flame before, and showed 
The ambitious a better path. 

^* This was tho cause, that terrestrial Joy 
With Its spell lulled mo not to sloop ; 
This round mo oft to return 
And seek aogel-jojs I 

^ These roused me also, with loud penetrsUng silrer-tone, 

With intoxicating remembrance of tho hours of conseoratlon|-« 

These ssmc, these same angol-jojs, 

With harp and trombone, with thunder-call 1 

^ I am at tho goal, at tho goal I and feel, whore I am, 
In my whole soul a trembling! so will it bo (I speak 
Humanly of heaTonly things) with us, in presence of HhUi 
Who died I and arose 1 at tho ooming In hoaren t 

«* Up to this goal hast thou, 
My Lord I and My Ood I 
Orer more than one grave me, 
With mighty arm, safely brought I 

** BecoTory garest thou mo I garost courage and reeolatlon 
In the near approach of death I 
And saw I things terrible and unknown, 
That were to yield, since thou wast the shield f 

** They fled therefrom 1 and I hare sung, 

O heaTonly Redeemer, tho new CoTonant*s song 1 
Through tho fearful eourse hare I nml 

Kxx>F8froos. 167 

Thii mixtaro of pootio onthuslosm and nligioiu eonfidenet 
Inspiros both admiration and tondoraofls. Mod of talents for- 
merly addroflsod thomsolvos to fabulons doitloa. Klopotock htm 
conscoratcd bis talents to Ood himself ; and, by tho hoppj 
union of tho Olirlstian religion with pootrji he shows tho. Oor* 
mans how possible it is to attain a property in the fine orts^ 
which may belong peculiarly to themselTCS, without being 
derived, as senrile imitations, Arom tho ancients. 

Those who have known Klopstock, respect as much as thqr 
admire him. Religion, liberty, love, oocnpied oU his thoughts. 
His religious profession was found in the performance of all 
his duties ; he even gave up the cause of liberty when inno* 
cent blood would have defiled it ; and fidelity consecrated all 
the attachments of his heart Never had he recourse to hb 
imagination to Justify an error ; it exalted his soul without 
leading it astray. 

It is said, that his conversation was full of wit and taste ; 
that he loved the society of women, particularly of Freneh 
women, and that he was a good judge of that sort of charm 
and grace which pedantry reproves. I readily believe it ; for 
there is always something of universality in genius, and per- 
haps it is connected by secret tics to grace, at least to that* 
grace which is bestowed by nature. 

How far distant is such a man from envy, selfishness, ezoess 
of vanity, which many writers have excused in themselves in 
the name of the talents they possessed I If they had possessed 
more, none of these defects would have agitated theuL We 
are proud, irritable, astonished at our own perfections, when m 
little dexterity is mixed with the mediocrity of our character ; 
but true genius inspires gratitude and modesty ; for we ftd 
fh)m whom we received it, and we ore also sensible of the limit 
which he who bestowed has likewise assigned to it 

We find, in the second port of the Messias, a very fine pas- 
sage on the death of Mary, the sister of Martha and Loans, 
who is pointed out to us in the Oospel as the image of oontem- 
plative virtue. Lazarus, who has received life a second time 
from Jesus Christ, bids his sister fiffewell with a mixture of 


grief aod of oonfidenoe whkh u deeply affecting. From the 
last moflie&ts of Mary, Klopetock his drawn a picture of the 
death-bed of the just. When in his torn he was also on his 
death-bed, he repeated his verses on Mary, with an expiring 
Toioe ; he recollected them through the diades of the sepol- 
dire, and in feeble accents he pronounced them as exhorting 
himself to die well : thus, the sentiments expressed in youth 
were soiBciently pore to form the consolation of his closing 

Ah I how noble a gift is genius, when it has nerer been pro- 
fimed, when it has been employed only in rerealing to man* 
kind, under the attractire form of the fine arts, the g^erous 
sentiments and religious hopes which have before lain dormant 
in the human heart. 

This same passage of the death of Mary was read with the 
burial senice at Klopstock's funeral. The poet was old when 
he ceased to llye, but the rirtuous man was ahready in posses- 
sion of the immortal palms which renew existence and flourish 
beyond the graye. All the inhabitants of Hamburgh rendered 
to the patriarch of literature the honors which elsewhere are 
scarcely erer accorded, except to rank and power, and the 
manes of Elopstock receired the reward which the excellence 
of his life had merited. 



Pkrhips the literature of Oermany alone deriyed its source 
from criticism : in every other place criticism has followed the 
great productions of art ; but in Oermany it produced them. 
The epoch at which literature appears in its greatest splendor 

« •* The hooM in which Klopttoek the poet Uytd thirt/ yetn (177i-1803), 
•md died, is No. 37 in the K»oig^inm9.'*^Mwrm^»BtiMf9QkqrN€rikirn 
Onmy, p. S23.)— £tf. 


I — T-» 

•LBssnsro akd wmcKEUCAaHr. 189 

is tho caase of this difference. Yarioos nations had for maaj 
ages become illustrioos in the art of writing ; tbo Qermaoa aiy 
quired it at a much later period, and thought thej oould do no 
better than follow the path already marked out ; it was iieoe»> 
sarjr then that criticism should expel imitation, in order to 
make room for originality. Lessing wrote in prose with mecE- 
ampled clearness and precision : depth of thought fre^oentlj 
embarrasses the style of the writers of the new school ; Lea- 
sing, not less profound, had something seyere in his duuracter, 
which made him diBcover the most concise and stiikiii^ 
modes of expression. Lessing was always ^nlmat^ hi hia • 
writings by an emotion hostile to the ophuons he attacked, and 
a sarcastic humor giyes strength to his ideas. 

He occupied himself by turns with the theatre, irith phik>- ■ 
sophy, antiquities, and theology, pursuing truth through dl of * 
them, like a huntsman, who feels more pleasure in the ohaio * 
than in the attainment of his object. His style has, in some 
respects, the liycly and brilliant conciseness of the lYench.; 
and it conduced to render the German language classkraL 
The writers of the new school embrace a greater number of 
thoughts at the same tune, but Lessing deserres to be moro * 
generally admired ; he possesses a new and bold genius, whibh - 
meets neyertheless the common comprehensions of mankind. ' 
His modes of perception are German, his manner of e^qiressioii 
European. Although a dialectician, at once liyely and dood 
in his arguments, enthusiasm for the beautiful filled his whole 
soul ; he possessed ardor without glare, and a philoeophical 
yehemence which was always actiyo, and which by repeated 
strokes produced effects the most durable. 

Lessing analyzed the French drama, which was ihen&Bhioft* . 
able in his country, and asserted that the English drama was 
more intimately connected with the genius of his countiymm. 
In the judgment he passes on M^rope, Zaire, Sendramis, and 
Rodogune, he notices no particular improbabOitj ; he attaoki'-' 
the sincerity of the sentiments and characters, and finda Unit 
with the personages of those fictions, as if thqr were real be« ' 
ings ; his criticism is a treatise on the faomaa hearty at mafii * 

You L— 8 

M Ok theatrical poetiy. To appredate with Jutioe the obia^ 
Tatfama made bj Leving on tiie dramatio qritenk in general, 
we mult examine, as I mean to do in the following chapten, 
the principal differences of French and Oerman opinion on 
tUssnltfect Bat, in the history of literatnre, it isremaricable 
that a German shoold haTe had the coorage to criticise a great 

Fiench writer, and Jest with wit on the Jzrj prince of Jesterib 
Yoltaire hfanseU 

It was mnch for a nation, lymg nnder the weight of an 
anathema whidi refused it both taste and graee, to become 
sensible that in erery coontry there exists a national taste, a 
natural grace ; and that literary fiune may be acqdrod in Tarip 
one ways. The writings of Losing gaye a new impulse to Us 
countrymen : they read Shakqicaro ; they dared in Qermany 
to can themsdyes Qerman ; and the rights of origbality were 
established instead of the yoke of correction. 

Lessng has composed theatrical pieces and phOosopbieal 
works which desenre to be examined separately ; we diould 
always consider German authors under yarious points of riew. 

As they are still more distinguished by the faculty of thought 
than by genius, they do not deyote thcmsclycs exdusiyely to 
any particular spedes of composition ; reflection attracts them 
snocessiydy to different careers of literature. 

Among the writings of Lessing,' one of the most remark* 

* " Bviii ii to Letiiiig thai an Eoglishmaii woold tarn with the readleal 
sflbetioi. We esimot but wonder that more of this man ia not known 
among na, or that the knowledge of him haa not done more to remoft 
aoch miieoneeptiona. Among aU the writen of the eighteenth eentory-* 
we win not except eren Diderot and David Home— there ia not one of a 
mere eompaet and rigid intellectnal atraetore ; who more diatinetly known 
what be ia aiming at, or with more graeefUneia, yigor, and preciaion, aent 
It forth to hia readera. He thinka with the c1eame« and piereeneea aharp* 
nea of the moat expert logician; hnt a genial fire penradea him, a wit, a 
heartineaa, a general richneaa and fineneea of natare« to which moat logl- 
eiana are atrangera. He ia a akeptio In manj thinga, bnt the nobleat of 
akeptica; a BKild, manly, half-eareleaa enthuiaam a^rngglea through hia 
Indigaant nnbeUef X he atanda before naUke a ton-won, bnl unwearied and 
baroie champion, eaning not the oenqnealbal the battle; aa Indeed him^ 
s« sMlst*iS|thsS«|lliaetlhaeadh^eClrath|b«ttha bsaisl a^ia 

■ ..■ Jfj a 

LBssmo JJXD wiauiM . if A Tnr > - 171: 

able 18 the LaocoOn ; it characteriies the fal;jecU whkii an - 
Buitabie both to poetry and paintuig, with as miich phUoaoplqf 
in the principles as sagacity in the examines : nererthden, 
it was Winckchnann who in Gcnnany brought about an 
eiitire revoiation in the manner of considering the arts^ and 
literature also, as connected with the arts. I shall qieak of 
bim elsewhere under the relation of his inflaence on the arti ; 
but his style certainly places him in the first rank of Germaa 

This man, who at first knew antiquity only by books, was 
desirous of contemplating its noble remains ; he felt hiouelf 
attracted with ardor towards the South ; we still firequently find 
in Ocrman imagination some traces of that lore of the Ban, 

for it, that profits.' Wo confess we should be entirely tX a loet for tlie 
literary creed of that man who reckoned Leasing other than a thoroiigklj 
cuIUTatcd writer,— nay, entitled to rank, in this particolar, with the moat 
distinguiHhed writers of any existing nation. As a poet, aa a eritie, phflo- 
Bophcr, or controTersialist, his style will be found preefaiely sock aa we of 
England are accostomed to admire most : brief, nenrona, TiTld, yet qnloti 
without giittter or antithesis ; idiomatic, pure without pnriam, transparoBti 
yet full of character and reflex hues of meaning. * Every lentenee,' aajs 
Horn and Justly, * is like a phalanx ;' not a word wrong plaeed, not a word 
that could be spared ; and it forms itself so calmly and lightly, and ataiide 
in its completeness, so gay, yet so impregnable I Aa a poet, ho eoiiteBpt«» 
oualy denied himself all merit ; but his readers have not taken him at kit 
words : here, too, a similar felicity of style attends him ; hia playi Mi 
Minna von Bamkdm^ his EtnilU OaloUi, his Nathan dtr IFam— havo a 
genuine and graceftil poetic life ; yet no works known to na in any laa* 
guage are purer firom exaggeration, or any appearance of fiyaehood. Thoy 
are pictures, we might say, painted not in colors, but in crayona; yet s 
atrange attraction lies in them, for the figures are grouped into tho flnsal 
attitudes, and true and spirit-speaking in every line. It is with his stylo 
chiofiy that we have to do here ; yet we must add, that the matter of hlo 
works is not less meritorious. His Criticism, and philoaophic or loUglovB 
Skepticism, were of a higher mood than had yet been heard in Eoropo, iUU 
more in Oermany; his DramaiurgU first exploded the pretenaiona of the • 
French theatre, and, with Irresistible eonvietion, made Bhakspoare kaowm 
to his countrymen, preparing the way for a brighter era in their Uteratorti 
the chief men of which still thankAilly look back to Lesaing aa thoir patfl> 
arch. His LoocoSn, with its deep glancea into the phOoaophy of Art, his 
DiaiogutM vf FrtmoMtrnM^ a work of far higher import than its tttla ladl* 
eates, may yet teaoh many thinga to moat of na, which we knew aot| aai 
onfl^ to know."— (Oar^s SMoys, p. aa.)-^AL . . . h.- 

178 ifAniint DB 8XAEl'b OXBMAHT. 

that wearinees of the North, which formerly drew so manj 
northern nationa into the coantries of the South. A fine skj 
awakens sentiments suniiar to the loTe we bear to onr country. 
When Winckebnann, after a long abode in Italy, returned to 
Germany, the sight of snow, of the pointed roo& which it cov- 
en, and of smoky houses, filled him with mekmcholy. He felt 
as if he could no longer enjoy the arts, when he no longer 
breathed the air which gare them birth. What contemplative 
eloquence do we not discover in what he has written on the 
Apollo Belvedere and the Laocodn I His style is calm and 
majestic as the object of his consideration. He gives to the 
art of writing the imposing dignity of ancient monuments, and 
his description produces the same sensation as the statue itself. 
No one before him bad united such exact and profound obser- 
vation with admiration so animated ; it is thus only that we 
can comprehend the fine arts. The attention they excite must 
Im) awakened by love ; and wo must discover in the e^f- 
iTauvre of genius, as wo do in the features of a beloved object, 
a thousand charms, which are revealed to us by tlio sentiments 
they inspire. 

Some poets before Winckelmann has studied Qreek trage- 
dies, with the purpose of adapting them to our theatres. 
I.«camcd men wero known, whoso authority was equal to that 
of books ; but no one had hitherto (to use the expression) 
rendered himself a pagan in order to penetrate antiquity. 
Winckelmann possesses the defects and advantages of a Gre- 
cian amateur ; and wo feel in his writings the worship of 
beauty, such as it existed in a nation whore it so often obtained 
the honors of apotheosis. 

Imagination and learning equally lent their different lights 
to Winckelmann ; before him it was thought that they mutu* 
ally excluded each other. He has shown us that to understand 
tlie ancients, one was as necessary as the other. We can give 
life to objects of art only by an intimate acquaintance with the 
country and with the epoch in which they existed. We are not 
interested by features which are indistinct To anhnate recitals 
mod fictions, where past ages are the theatres^ learning must 

• _ 


eyer assist the imaginatioD, and reader it^ if pooiUe^ aqpecta- 
torof whatitistopaint, aod a contemporarj of what it relates. 

Zadig gaesBcd, by some confosod traoea, some words half 
torn, at circmnstances which he deduced from the alighteet 
indications. It is thns that through antiquity we must take 
learning for oar guide : the vestiges which we percehre an 
hitermpted, effaced, dif&cnlt to lay hold of ; bot by maUng 
use at once of imagination and study, we bring back time^ and 
renew existence. 

When we appeal to tribunals to decide on the truth of s 
fact, it is sometimes a slight circumstance which makes itdear. 
Imagination is in this respect like a Judge ; a single word, a cus- 
tom, an allusion found in the works of the andents, senrcs itas 
a light, by which it arrives at the knowledge of perfect troth. 

Winkclmann know bow to apply to his inspection of the 
monuments of the arts, that spirit of Judgment which leads us 
to the knowledge of men : ho studied the physiognomy of the 
statuo as ho would have done that of a human bein^. He 
seized with great Justness the slightest observations, fit>m 
which he knew how to draw the most strikbig condusions. A 
certain physiognomy, and emblematical attribute, a mode of 
drapery, may at once cast an unexpected light on the I<mgest 
researches. The locks of Ceres are thrown back with a disor- 
der that would be unsuitable to the character of Minerva ; tha 
loss of Proserpine has forever troubled the mhid of her mother. 
Minos, the son and disciple of Jupiter, has in our medals the 
same features as his father ; nevertheless the calm m^jesfy of 
the one, and the severe expression of the other, distinguish 
the sovereign of the gods from the Judge of men. The Torso 
is a fragment of the statue of Hercules deified,— of Urn who 
received from Hebe the cup of immortality ; while the Farnsr 
sian Hercules yet possesses only the attributes of a mortal ; 
each contour of the Torso, as energetic as this,, but more 
rounded, still characterizes the strength of the horo ; but of the 
hero who, placed in heaven, is thenceforth freed fr<mi the rude 
labors of the earth. All is symbolical in the arts, and nature 
shows herself under a thousand different appearances in those 


pictaroK, in that poetrj, where Immdbnity xnnst indicate mo* 
lion, wlieio the inmoHt soul must bo externally didplayodi 4nd 
where the existence of a moment must last to eternity. 

Winckelmann has banished from the line arts in Europe the 
mixture of ancient and modem taste. In Germany, his Influ* 
CDoo has been still more dis|>layed In literature Uian In the 
arts. We shall, bi what follows, be led to examine whether 
the scropttloos imitation of the ancients is compatible with 
natural originality ; or rather, whetlicr we ouglit to sacrifice 
that origmality fai order to conflne ourselves to the choice of 
wahjcciM, in which poetry, like painting, having no model in 
existence, can represent only statues. But this discussion is 
foreign to the merit of Winckelmann : in the fine arts, lie has 
abown us what constituted taste among the ancients ; it was 
fiir the modems, in this respect, to feel what it suited them to 
adopt or to rrjoct. When a man of genius succeeds in dis- 
playing secrets of an antique or foreign nature, he renders 
senrico by the impulse which he traces : the emotion thus re- 
oeiTcd becomes part of ourselves ; and the greater the troth 
that accompanies it, the less servile is the imitation it inspires, 

Winckelmann Ims developed the trae principles, now admit- 
ted into the arts, of the nature of the ideal ; of that perfect 
nature, of which the type is in our imagination, and does not 
exist elsewhere. The application of tliese principles to litera* 
tore is singuhirly productive. 

The poetic of all the arts is united under the same point of 
view in the writings of Winckelmann, and all have gained by 
it Poetry has been better comprehended by the aid of sculp- 
ture, and sculpture by that of poetry : and we have been 1^ 
by Uie arta of Greece to her philosophy. Idealistic metaphys- 
ics originate with the Germans, as they dkl formerly with the 
Greelcs, in the adoration of supreme beauty, which our souls 
alone can conceive and acknowledge. This supreme ideal 
beauty is a rcmmisoenco of heaven, our original eoontry ; the 
«calpCores of Phidias^ the tragedies of Sophodea, and the doo- 
^rinci of Plato, aU agree to give as the same idea o( ^ ^autet 


That vhlch voa wanting to Klopstook wu * cnattTQlD 
nation : ho garo uttcronco to great tUougliti and noble eentt- 
mcnts in bonatirul Term ; but lia vras not what might be called 
on artUt. Uib iuvcutioiia are iroak ; aud tho colors In winch 
ho invests tbem ha?o scarcely ovcu that plenltudo or strength 
that wo delight to meet with in poetry, aud In all other orta 
which are cxjicctcd to give to fiction Ibo energy and original- 
ity of nature. Kloi^tock loses himself in tlio ideal. Goetbo 
ucTcr gives Q]> tho cartli, oven in attaining tho most subliino 
coiicL'ptions, liis mind poiucsscs vigor not weakened by sensi- 
bility. Qoctlio might bo regarded as tho rcprcseLitativc of all 
Qerinan literature ; not that there aro no writers superior to 
him in diCTcrent kinds of composition, but that ho unites in 
UiuiGclf nIoDo all tho distinguishes German genius j and no 
one besides is so remarkable for a peculiar species of imo^oaf 
tion which neither Italians, English, nor French bavo erer 

Gootho having displayed his talents in composition ot Ttn- 
ODB kinds, tho examination of his works will find tho greatest 
port of tho following chapters ; but a personal knowledge of 
tho moo who possesses such an inQnenco OTor tho literature of 
his country will, it appears to mo, assist us tho better to onde^ 
stand that litoraturo.' 

I •■ Til* DddIiou ArnBlli wu «Doh>Dte<l with hir [UodAme ds StaSt], and 
tho dak« wrot« toQaollia, whovualJoDn, begetDglilm toaom«oTar,uid 
bo aocn by hor ; vhloh OoothD rtij poilUvely deolined. Us uld, V ib* 
wlibod ver; nacli to ■«• blia, ud would eon* to Joob, >h> ihonld ba mj 
liosrUl; walaomsd ; s oamfortobts lodglof tad a boargsolt tablo woold bs 
' oOkrtd h«r, utd tnrj <U; lfa«7 aould b>Ta iDina hew* togathar wb«B Ui 
hadsHtWM enri bat haoeoU lel ondartak* to gs ta Msit, ia4 iole 


Qoethe posscssiis superior talents for conversation ; and wbaU 
GTcr wc maj say, sapcrior taleota OQglit to enable a man to 
talk. We may, howcTcr, produce eomc examples of silent men 
of gcoim : timiditj', miBrurtimo, dtetlain, or ennui, ore oftea tbe 
cause of it ; bat, in general, extent; of ideas and nunnth or booI 
natarally inspire the necessity of commuoicating our feelings 
U) others ; and those men who will not be judged by what 
they soy, may .not dcseire that we slioald interest onrselresin 
what they think. When Qoetbo is indnccd to talk, ho is od- 
mJrablc ; his eloquence is ennched with tliouglit ; his pleas- 
tntry is, at the same time, full of grace and of philosophy ; bis 
imagination is impressed by external objects, as was that of the 
ancient artists ; nevertheless his reason possesses but too much 
the maturity of our own times. Nothing disturbs tbe strength 
of his mind, and even the defects of his character, ill-huraop, 
cmbarrassmeDtfl, constraint, pass like clouds round the foot of 
that moDntaiD on tbe summit of which bis genius is placed. 

What ii related of the conrertttion of Diderot may give 
some idea of that of Goetbe ; but, if we may Judge by tbe 
writingi of Diderot, the distance between these two men mnat 
be infinite. Diderot Is the slave of his genius ; Goetbe ever 

wwk^ ; he did not fael UmMlf itrong ■aongh. In tha baginalnf of IBOk 
k«w«TW, k* samo l« "Wtimtr, ud tbara ba madi lur uquslnUniie, tkat 
ii t» nr, he reoeind bar in hie own home, U flnt t«»«4M(, and tOu- 
ward* la muU obolai of Mends. 

" ExMpt when the managed U aoluat* falm bj bar piradozaa, or wit, ke 
wu cold and foraal to her, even mere ao than to ether remarkable people ) 
•■d he hiB toM w tht rcMOD. Booaaewi bad baan drawn Into a eom- 
tpMtSaae* with two woman, who addreiaed themnlvaa to him na edmi^ 
•n; ha bad ahown himaelf in thii correipODdenee bj no maaai to hta 
adnBtage, now (1803) that the letten appeared la prinL Goethe had 
nad M heard et thla oorreapondenoe, and Uadaae d« 8tul had ftmaUj 
told him aha inteided to print hla eonvenatloB. 

" Thla WM enoagb to make bim ill at eaaa in bar aoolaty; and althoach 
■b* aald be waa ' nn homne d'na eiprit prodlf has en eDaveraatian .... 
Vud on le aalt tain parltrll ««t admirable,' ahe never aaw the real, bM 
abctitloaa Oeeihe. B7 dint ef prevooatlen— tad cbampaffna—ahe naa- 
osadtonuke him talk brtUUatljr; ihe Mvergot Unto talk to bar Mri- 
«Ml7. OathelMhof rebraarr, dM lenWalntr.tothesraUnlkf batk 
•f OeMha aMBehUlet."— (Uwea, /.tfk ^r OMtta, nl U. ^ m.) 

GOiTlIE. 177 

holds tho powers of his mind in SQtdecttoa i Diderot is affeeted, 
from tho constant endeavor to produoe tIbcX ; but in Goethe 
wo percdvo disdain of snooess, and that to a degree that is 
nngulorljr pleasing, oren when wo haTe most reaaoo to find 
fanlt with his negUgonce. Diderot finds it necessary to mpglf 
bj philanthropy his want of religions sentiments : Ghwthe k 
inclined to be more bitter than sweet ; bnt^ aboTO aD, lie is 
natural ; and, in fact, without this qnalitj, what is there in one 
man that should haye power to interest another F 

Qoethe possesses no longer that resistless ardor wUdi in- 
inspired hun in the composition of WerlAtr; bnt the wannth of 
his imagination is still sufficient to animate ererj tUng. It 
might be said, that he is himself unconnected with lifo, and 
that he describes it merelj as a painter. He attaches more 
value, at present, to the pictures he presents to ns^ than to the 
emotions he experiences ; time has rendered Urn a qpectator. 
While he still bore a part in the active scenes of the passions^ 
while he suffered, in his own person, firom the pertnrbatioiia of 
the heart, his writings produced a more lively impression. 

As wo do not always best appreciate our own tidents, Ooethe 
maintains at present, that an author should be cahn even when 
he is writing a passionate work ; and that an artist ihoold 
equally be cool, in order the more powerfully to aot on tho 
imagination of his readers. Perhaps in early life, he would not 
have entertained this opinion ; perhaps he was then enslaved 
by his genius, rather than its master ; perhaps he then fUt 
that the sublime and heavenly sentiment behig of transieni 
duration in the heart of man, the poet is inferior to the inspi 
ration which animates him, and cannot enter into judgment on 
it» without losing it at once. 

At first wo are astonished to find coldneni and even 
thing like stiffness, in the author of Werther ; but when wo 
prevail on him to be perfectly at his oasci tho liveliness of lya 
imsgination makes tho restraint which we first iblt entirely 
disappear. He is a man of universal mind, and impartial bo* 
cause universal ; for there is no indifference in his impartiality : 
his is a double existence, a double degree of strength, a dooblo 

178 VAPAMie DR btaxl'b osbkaht. 

lighti which on all rabjccto enlightenfl at onoo both aides of the 
question. When, it ia nccessaiy to think, nothing arrcsta hia 
oouiao; ncitlicr the ago in which ho Uvea, nor the habita he 
has formed, nor hia relatione with social life : hia eagle glance 
&lls decidedly on the object he observes. If his career had 
been a political one, if his soul had developed itself bj actions, 
his character would have been more strongly marked, more 
firm, more patriotic ; but hia mind would not have taken so 
wide a range over every different mode of perception ; passion 
or interests would then have traced out to him a positive path. 

Oocthe delights in his writings, as well as in his conver- 
sation, to break the thread which he himself has spun, to 
destroy the emotions he excites, to throw down the image he 
has forced us to admire. When, in his fictions, he inspires us 
with interest for any particular character, he soon shows the 
inconsistences which are calculated to detach us from it. He 
disposes of the iK)ctic world, like a conqueror of the real earth ; 
and thinks himself strong enough to introduce, as nature some- 
times docs, the genius of destruction into his own works. If 
he were not an estimable character, we should be afraid of this 
species of superioity which elevates itself above all things ; 
which degrades and then again raises up ; which affects us, 
and then laughs at our emotion ; which affirms and doubts by 
tarns, and always with the same success. 

I have said that Goethe possessed in himself alone all the 
principal features of German genius ; they are all indeed found 
in him to an eminent degree : a great depth of ideas, that 
grace which springs from imagination — a grace far more ori- 
ginal than that which is formed by the spirit of society: 
in short, a sensibility sometimes bordering on the fantastic, 
but for that very reason the more calculated to interest 
readers, who seek in books something that may give varie- 
ty to their monotonous existence, and in poetry, impressions 
which may supply the want of real eventa. If Goethe were 
a Frenchman, he would be made to talk from morning till 
sight: all the authors, who were contemporary with Bide- 
rot, went to derive ideaa from his conversation, and affotdfid 


him, at the somo time, an habitual enjoyment from the ad- 
miration ho inspired. The Ocrmani know not how to make 
U60 of their talents in conversation, and lo fow people^ efoi 
among the most distingalshod, hare the habll of intenb- 
gating and answering, that sociotf is acaioe^ at ■Il-ee* 
teemed among them ; but the infloonco of Ooetha is not the 
less extraordinary. Thero aro a great many people in Oe^ 
many who would think genius discoforablo eren in the diieo> 
tion of a letter, if it were written by him. The admiren of 
Ooetho form a sort of fraternity, in whieh the rallying woidi 
serve to discover tho adepts to each other. When ibreignen 
also profess to admire him^ they aro rqocted with disdain, if 
certain restrictions leave room to suppose that they liav« al* 
lowed themselves to examine works which neverthelesi gain 
much by examination. No man can kindle sneh flmalieism 
without possessing great faculties, whether good or bad; jbr 
there is nothing but power, of whatever kind it tomy be^ wUdk 
men suflSciently dread to be oxcitod by it to a degraa ef lOft 
so onthusiastie. 



Schuler was a man of uncommon genius and of perftet 
sbcerity ; these two qualities ought to be inseparaMa at least 
in a literary character. Thought can never be compared with 
action, but when it awakens in us the image of troUu Ealse- 
hood is still more disgusting in writing than in condoct Ai> 
tions even of the most deceitful kind still remain actlotts^ and 
we know what we have to depend on, either in Jndgini; or 
hating them ; but writings are only a vahi mass of idle wordi^ 
when they do not proceed from sincere conviction. 

There is not a nobler course than that of literatore, y^/bm it 
is pursued as Schiller pursued it It is tme, that in GeroMaqr 

180 wAnAine bB STASl'b OERHAHT. 

there is so much seriousness and probity, that it is there alone 
we can bo completely acquainted with the character and the 
duties of cTery Tocation. Nevertheless Schiller was admirable 
among them all, both with respect to his virtaes and his talents. 
His Muse was Conscience : she needs no invocation, for we 
hear her voice at all times, when we have once listened to it 
He loved poetry, the dramatic art, history, and literature in 
general, for its own sake. If he had determined never to pub- 
lish his works, he would nevertheless have taken the same 
pains in writing them; and no consideration, drawn either 
from success, from the prevailing fashion, from prejudice, or 
from any thing, in short, that proceeds from others, could ever 
have prevailed on him to alter his writings ; for his writings 
were himself: they expressed his soul; and ho did not con- 
ceive the possibility of altering a single expression, if the inter- 
nal sentiment which inspired it had undergone no change. 
8chiller, donbtlcss, was not exempt from self-love ; for if it be 
necessary, in order to animate us to glory, it is likewise so to 
render us capable of any active exertion whatever ; but nothing 
differs so much from another in its consequences as vanity and 
the love of fame : the one socks successes by fraud, the other 
endeavors to command it openly ; this feels inward uneasiness 
and lies cunningly in wait for public opinion ; that trusts its 
own powers, and depends on natural causes alone for strength 
to subdue all oppositiou. In short, there Is a sentiment even 
more pure than the love of glory, which is the love of truth : 
it is this love that renders literary men like the warlike preach- 
ers of a noble cause ; and to them should henceforth be as- 
ngned the charge of keeping the sacred fire ; for feeble women 
are no longer, as formerly, sufficient for its defence. 

Innocence in genius, and candor in power, are both noble 
qualities. Our idea of goodness is sometimes debased by asso* 
dating it with that of weakness ; but when it is united to the 
highest degree of knowledge and of energy, we comprehend in 
what sense the Bible has told us, that " Ood made man after 
his own image." Schiller did hhnself an ii^jury, when he first 
entered into the world,- by the wanderings of his imagination \ 

8GHILLEB. 181 

but with the maturity of age, ho recovorod that sablime pnritjr 
which gives birth to noble thought With dcgradiDg ionti- 
ments he held no intorcoarAO. lie liyed, ho spoke, he actad, 
as if the wicked did not exist; and when ho described them 
in his works, it was with more exaggeration and less depth of 
observation than if he had really known them. The wicked 
presented themselves to his imagination as an obstacle in na> 
tare, as a physical scoarge ; and perhaps, in many rospoetii 
they have no intellectual being ; the habit of rice has chaiiged 
iheir souls into a perverted instinct 

Schiller was the best of friends, tho best of CEttheis, the best 
of husbands ; no quality was wanting to complete that gentle 
and peaceful character which was animated by tho fiib of ge> 
nius alone ; the love of liberty, respect for the female sex, en- 
thusiasm for the fine arts, adoration of the Divinity« inspired 
his mind ; and in the analysis of his works it would be tamj to 
point out to what particular virtue we owe tho various prodoc- 
tions of his masterly pen. It has been said that genins is all- 
sufBcicnt I believe it, where knowledge and skUl preside; 
but when we seek to paint the storms of human nataie, or 
fathom it in its unsearchable depths, the powers oven of imagi- 
nation fail ; we must possecs a soul that has felt the agitation 
of the tempest, but into which the Divino Spirit has descended 
to restore its serenity.* 

> " Of his noblo scnno of tnith, both in sp«calAtion and In sotioo ; of h!t 
deep, genial insight into nature ; and tho living harmony in which h« fwi- 
dcrs back what is highest and grandest in Nataro, no reader of hit wottn 
need bo reminded. In whatever belongs to tho pathoUo, tho heroic, ths 
tragicallj elevating, Schiller is at home ; a master; nay, perhaps the greet* 
est of all late poets. To the assiduous student, moreover, mnoh else thai 
lay in SchiUer, but was never worked into shape, will beoome paitieUj 
visible: deep inexhaustible mines of thought and feeling; ewheiewerid 
of giAs, the finest produce of which was but beginning to be rBeliied. To 
his high-minded, unwearied efforts, what was impoaaible, bad length of 
years been granted him I There is a tone in somo of hla later piecea, 
which here and there breathes of the very highest region of art. ' ICor ai« 
the natural or aocidental defects we have noticed in hia gonioa, even as it 
stands, such as to exclude him from the rank of groat Poota. Poeta wImnb 
the whole world reckons great, have, more than onoe, exhibited the like. 
Milton, for example, shares most of them with him : like BehiUer, be dweOs 


I saw Schiller, for tho firrt timoy in tho siiIooTn>^o I>uke 
and Duchcn of Weimar, in tho prencnco of a society as enlight- 
ened as it was exalted. lie read French very well, but ho had 
never spoken it I maintained, witli some warmtli, tho supe- 
riority of our dramatic system over tliat of all others; ho did 
not refuse to enter the lists witli me, and without f^i^ng any 
uneasiness from the difllculty and slowness wit&'^iidb \\ ex- 
pressed himself in French, without dreading the opinion of his 
audience, which was all against him, his conviction of being 
right impelled him to speak. In order to reftito him, I at first 
nuule use of French arms — ^vivacity and pleasantry ; but in 
what Schiller said, I soon discovered so many ideas through 
the impediment of his words ; I was so struck with that sim- 
plicity of character, which led a man of genius to engage him- 
self thus in a contest where speech was wanting to express hia 

will All! i>ower, onljr In tho Iilf()i ami oniDciit; In nil othor provineoM ex- 
hibiting ti eortain InAptltiido, nn clcplmntliio unpliftncy: ho too hoH littlo 
Humor; hin coaivo invoctlvo htm In It conto^nptiioim cniphiu«Iii ctioii)(h, yot 
■ciircci/ nnj irniccAil uport. Indeed, on t)io poHitlvo nldo nlno, thcAO two 
worthicA aro not without a roACinhlanco. Under fnr otlier olroumiitAnccfi, 
with Icnn moffMvcncM, and vchcmont ntrcnj^h of Roul, thoro U In BclilUor 
the Minio Intensity ; tho Mimo conecntnition, and towards nimllar objocta, 
towarda whatovor la aubllmo in Nature and in Art, whleh nublimitioa, thoy 
both, each In hIa aovond way, womhip with undivided lieart. Thoro la 
not in Hcliillcr'ii nature the aaine rich complexity of rhythm, aa in Milton*! 
witli ita depth of linked aweotneaa ; yet In Hohlller, too, tliero In aomethin^ 
of tho aanio pure, awelling forci*, aome tone which, like Mllton*a, la deep, 
mi^^'^^i^^f solemn. 

**It waa aa a dramatle anthor that Schiller diatlnf^ilnhcd hlmnelf to tho 
world : yet o(\en we feel aa If chance rather than a natural tendonoy had 
led him Into thia province ; aa if liia talent wero eaaentlally. In a oertain 
Btyle, lyrical, pcrhapa even epic, rather than dramatic. Ho dwelt within 
himaclf, and could not without effort, and then only within a certain nuiffo, 
body fortli othor formn of beln^. Nay, much of what la called hia poetry 
aeema to ua oratorieal rather than poetlool ; hla flrat biaa might have led 
him to be A speaker, ratlier than a ainger. Novorthelcaa, a pure Are dwelt 
deep In bla soul ; and only In Poetry, of ono or the bther sort, could thia 
find nttcraaoe. Tho reat of hla nature, at the aamo time, haa a eertain pro- 
aaio rigor; so that not without strenuous and complex endeavors, long per- 
alated In, oould Ita pooUo qiwlity evolve Itaelf. Quite pure, and as the all* 
•overelgn element, It perhaps never did evolvo Itaelf; and among snoh 
eomplex endeavors, a small accident might Inflneaee laigt portions In its 
•oorsc*«-<0w4^s Jte^, Svo sdltlsn, p. 8S8.y-jril, 


fhoaghU ; I fonod him so modoiit and lo bdiflbrant u to what 
concoriicd his own sacccra, so prond and so animated In tha 
defence of wiiat appeared to him to bo tnith, that I Towad to 
him, fVom that moment, a friendship rcpleto with admbatlon. 
Attacked, while yet yoang, by a hopeless disease, the laflii^ 
ings of his last moments were softened by the attention of Us 
children, and of a wife who dcsenred his affection by a thousand 
endearing qualities. Madame ron Woheogen, a friend worthy 
of comprehending him, asked him, a few hoars befiora his 
death, how he felt f " Still more and more aasy,** was Ua 
reply ; and, indeed, had he not reason to place his trust ii 
that Ood whose domhiiou on earth he had endoaTorod to pnh 
mote f Was he not approaching the abode of the Jnst 1 Is 
he not at this moment In the society of those who reaemUa 
him f and has he not already rqjoined the frieiida who art 
awaiUng us f 



Ik learning the prosody of a hmguage, we enter more btt 
matcly into tlie spirit of the nation by which it is spoken, than 
by any other possible manner of study. Thence it foIlowB that 
it is amusing to pronounce foreign words : wo listen to oo^ 
scItcs as if another wore speaking ; but nothing is so delieate^ 
nothing so difficult to seize, as accent We learn the aoat 
complicated airs of music a thousand times more vsadity than 
the pronounciation of a single syllable. A long sncoessliNi of 
years, or the Orst impressions of childhood, can alone render 
ns capable of imitating tliis pronunciation, whieh oomprehends 
whaterer is most subtle and undefinable in tlie I mag i na t h n ii 
and in national character. 

The Germanic dialects hare for fhelr original a nothei^ 
toDlgne, of wUoh they all partake. This common aonrea v^ 

184 MAnAine dX STAXl'b OSRMANT. 

news and moltiplies expressionB in a mode always conformable 
to the genius of the people. Hie nations of Latin origin 
enrich themselves, as ws may say, only externally ; they most 
have rccoorse to dead langnages, to petrified treasures, for the 
extension of their empire. It is therefore natural that innoTa- 
tions in words chouli be less pleasing to them, than to those 
nations which emit shoots from an ever-living stock. Bnt the 
French writers require an animation and coloring of their style, 
by the boldest measures that a natural sentiment can suggesti 
while the Germans, on the contrary, gain by restricting them- 
selves. Among them, reserve cannot destroy originality ; they 
nm no risk of losing it bnt by the very excess of abondance. 

The air we breathe has much influence on the sonnds we 
articulate : the diversity of soil and climate produces very 
difierent modes of pronouncing the same language. As we 
approach the sea-coast, we find the words become softer; the 
climate there is more temperate; perhaps also the habitual 
sight of this image of infinity inclines to rcvery, and gives to 
pronunciation more of eficminacy and indolence ; but when we 
ascend towards the mountains, the accent becomes stronger, 
and we might say that the inhabitants of these elevated re- 
gions wish to make themselves heard by the rest of the world, 
from tho height of their natural rostra. Wo find in the Ger- 
manic dialects the traces of the difierent influences I have now 
had occasion to point out 

The German is in itself a language as primitive, and almost 
as mtricate in structure, as the Greek.' 'Diose who have made 

> The tabject of oompftratiTO philolo^ is fiiifrgc»tod,— a sabject that 
cspccullj reniiDds ns of German erndition. Wo can hore only refer to 
tboM wbo bare devoted tbemaelTcs to tbe atudy of tbii noble branch of 
learning, and thos gnida the etadent to sources whence be can obtain all 
the information he may desire. The leading article in the Jfint SHgUrndtr^ 
for An^nst, 1858 (by MLr. Dwight), contains a clearly written sommafy of 
the Ilist'jrj of Modem Philology, from which wo take tho following : 

''Behold, now, the most important of the different namea that wo havo 
mentioned, grouped in classes according to their merit 

** 1. Bopp, Orimm, Pott, Diefenbaoh, Benaiy, Sohleieher, Cortioa, Kohn, 
Diet, Hommsen, and Anflnsdit 

**!. XklilMa; Akiwa, Oi«e, Hoeftr, HeyM, Bsnfcj, BomMmhu 




researches into the great families of natioos^ haTe tboqglit thqr 
diBCOTcred the historical reasons for this resemldanoa. It k 
certainly tme, that wo remark in the German a grammatical 
affinity with the Greek ; it has aU its difflooltj, withoot iti 
charm ; for the mnltitnde of consonants of wUch tbe woidi^ 
are composed, render them rather noi^j than aonoiroai. 1% 

** S. EaltMbmidt, Rapp, and Winning. 

'*The«d writen mkj also be adTantageooily dMMi te tkm i«idM% 
Infonnation, into difSn^nt cIamm, According to tht safefMli ttak Ihij tesa 

L Lamquagi. 

"1st. The Indo-Eoropetn languages generaUjt flcMafchir ifignAtm 
Earopa*B) : Haz Httller (Surrey of Languages, Id edttton). 

"2d. Specially, 

" (1.) The Gneeo-Italio: Schleicher (SpracSen, 4e.); ICoDBMa (Bh 
mische Gesehichte) ; E. Cnrtios (Griechische Gesoh.) ; AafMbt tad KM* 
hoff (Umbrische Bprachdenkmiler) ; Dies (Gramwatik der BemnlBAsa 

" (3.) The Letiio : Schleicher (Sprachen, &c). 

"(3.) The Gothic; Grimm (Dentscbe GrammaUk ad QtsddaiSs)| 
Schleicher ; Diefenbach (Gothisches Worterbnch). 

" (4.) ScUvonic : Schafarik ; Schleicher ; ICiUotfeh. 

"(6.) Celtic: Diefenbach (CelUca) ; Pictet: Chariea lC07«r; Wmm 
(GrammaUca Celtica) ; Ebel (Zeitschrifl, Ac) ; Pilohaid (GtMo HatkaO- 

n. PHONinos. 

" Benary , Hoefer ; Grimm (Dentscbe Grammatik oad Oiiokislli) ; Bsff 

(Yergleich. Gramm.) ; Dies (Grammatik, &c.). ' 


" Becker's yarions works on Grammar, Ac ; Hejia't Bijitaa d«r ^pm^ 

wiasenschafl, Lersch's Sprachphilosophie. 

IT. Ettmoloot. 

"Bopp (Yergleich. Gramm.); Schleicher (Litanisebo QruuDallk) ; ^ 
Cortins (Griechische Gramm.) ; Dies (Lexicon Etymologieom) ; MlMk 

** In Germany, by fkr the greatest attention has been paid, flroa spiiala 
neons impolse, to the claims of comparatiTe philology ; irbfla Ui BaHl% 
the government has as far exceeded all other gOTemmenti in ita patrnMga 
of this delightful study, and of those who are deroted to It. Ah la sal 
of the chief legacies left by the Empress (^tharine, in bar own MtloH 
example, to her saccessors on the throne ; and in aocepttag it, thty ksta 
not forgotten to pot it to good usury. - Ibe government pnbUiibaai at Ito 
own expense, the grammars, dictionaries, and treatlaea, prepared ^lls 
best scholars, and sustains travellers at ita own expense. In makl^ aipkr 
ing tours for philosophical purposes in the East Vienna, bowtfaTv k Us ' 
nuTgtfnrllflTi ttf ill iVngjfi Tfliim ^i lYinnrnrrlil Ini iTlmttal fikltnsifcM. k 



might bo saidy that the words thomsclres wore more fordble 
than the tbfaigs represented hj them, and Uiis frequently givee 
a sort of monotonous energy to the style. We should bo carc- 
fbl, nercrthclcss, not to attempt softening the pronunciation of 
the German language too mueh ; there always results from it 
a certain aflbcted gracefulness, which is altogether dbagroca- 
ble : it presents to our ears sounds cKsontially rude, hi spite of 
tho gentility with which wo seek to iurest them, and this sort 
of affectation Is singuhirly displeasing. 

J. J. Rousseau has said, that ike ioulktm languages were the 
da^ghUrs offUature^ the nerikeru^ of neetstity, Tho Italian and 
Spanish are modulated like an harmonious song ; the French 
is eminently suited ^o conversation : their parliamentary do- 
batcM, and the energy natural to tho people, hare giren to tho 
English something of expression, that supplies the want of 
proHody. The Qerman is more pbilosophical by far than the 
Italian; more poetical, by reason of its boldncsft, than tho 
Prcnch ; more favorable to the rhythm of Torscs than tho 
English ] but it still rctauis a certain stiffness that ])rocccds, 
possibly, from its being so sparingly made use of, cither in 
sociul intercourse or in the public service. 

Grammatical simplicity is one of tho great advantages of 
modem languages. This simplicity, founded on logical prin« 
ciplcs common to all nations, renders them easy to be under- 
stood : to learn the Italian and English, a slight degree of 
study b sullicicnt ; but the German is quite a science. The 
period, in the German language, encompasses the thought ; 
and like the talons of a bird, to grasp it, opens and closes on 
it again. A construction of phrases, nearly similar to that 
which existed among the ancients, 1ms been introduced into it 
with greater bcility than into any other European dialect; 

Frmnee, PmitU, tnd Denaurk aIm, mnch moro maI it fthown in thi« emp- 
tivatiaf ebn of ■tvdics than in either England or Amerioa. The Sanakrit 
haa liMO, indeed, aa long taoght in England aa in Germany, and even 
longer; bat sol for daaaJca! and philologioal pvrpoaea; (or oononnidiiX 
leaaona father, nnder the patmu^ of tbo East India Comvouf^ iX \Xu% 
Ooikta tiBMikrlmij.'*'-{J^ MkfUm itr, Angntt, ISM, to- Wlr%,^WL 



Imt iiiTcrsioDS are raroly suitablo to modem langotgoi. The 
itriking tenmnations of the Greek and Latins dmxlj- pointed 
out the words wliicli ought to bo Joined together Ofen when 
they were separated : the signs of the Germaa declenrioM an 
io indistinct, that we liare a good deal of dUkoIty to dlioo?«r, 
under colors so uniform, tlie words which depends on aadi 

When foreigners complain of the hkbor whUh Is locinlrBd to 
study the German language, Uiey are told that it Is Twy easf 
to write in tliat language with tlie simplicity of French grus* 
mar, while it is impossiI)le in French to adopt the Germaii 
period, and that tlierefore this should be considered m aflSnd- 
tng additional means of facility ; but these means misleod many 
writem, wlio are induced to make too firoquent use of them. 
The Gorman- is, perhaps, the only language, in which mm le 
more easy to be undcrfltood timn prose ; the poetic phrase^ 
being necessarily interrupted eren by the measure of the t«m^ 
cannot bo lengthened beyond it 

Witliout doubt, there are more shades, more connecting 
tics, between the thoughts in tliose periods, wlilch lo then- 
selves form a wliole, and assemble in the same point of tIow, 
all the yarious relations belonging to the same sulject ; but If 
we considered only tlie natural concatenation of different ideas, 
we should end by wishing to comprise them all in a aiogle 
phrase. It is necessary for the human mind to diridCy in order 
to comprohond, and wo run a risk of mistaking gleams of Uglit 
for truths, when eren the forms of a language are obecured. 

The art of translation is carried further Ui the Gorman lan- 
guage than in any other European dhlect.' Yoss has tnuu- 

1 **ETor7]Itortture of the worid hai beon enlUTttod bytks QtnMait' 
sod to trtry litoraturo they hare itodlod to gife due konor. Bhskfpeaie 
and Ilomer, no doubt, occupy alone the lofUeet itstloa la the yottlesi 
OlTmpiui; bat there If epaco for aU tme SiDsen, oat of OTory Sfs and 
clime. FerdoBi and the prlmeral M/thoIogiits of Hlndostaa, Uw la 
brotherly union with the Troubadoum and ancient Btory-leUsn cf the 
West The wayward myiUo gloom of Oalderon, tbs lurid Are cf Daula, 
t&aMrorallightof Tuio,1)ist\t%z \ft^ %\MtM «< BaAlm^ an aftaika«wl> 
0dg9d and reTsrtaoedt naj, la iflbia «iAm»i3l twv^mo^^itMM^aik^ 


lated tbe Greek and Latin aathon with wonderful directness ; 
and W. Schl^^ those of England, Italy, and Spain, with a 
tnith of coloring which before him was nnezampled. When 
the German is employed in a translation from the English, it 
loses nothing of its natural character, because both those lan- 
guages are of Germanic origin ; but whateyer merit may be 
found in Yosafs translation of Homer, it certainly makes, both 
of the niad and Odyssey, poems, the style of wl^ch is Greek, 
though the words are German. Our knowledge of antiquity 
gains by it ; but the originality, peculiar to the idiom of each 
nation, is necessarily lost in proportion. It seems like a conp- 
tradiction to accuse the German language of haying at once 
too much flexibility and too much roughness ; but what is 
reconcilable in character may ako be reconcilable in lan- 
guages ; and we often find that the quality of roughness does 
not exclude that of flexibility in the same person. 

These defects are less frequently discoyered in yerse than in 
prose, and in original compositions than in translations. I 
think then we may with truth alEnn, that there is at present 
DO poetry more striking and more yaried than that of the 

appointed for the Oressets and Dclilles, thtt no sptrk of InBpiration, no 
tone of mental mnsic, might remain unrecognized. The Germans lindy 
foreign nations in a spirit which deserres to be oftener imitated. It it 
their honest endearor to understand each with its own pecnliarities, in ita 
own special manner of existing ; not that thej maj praise it, or oensnre it| 
or attempt to alter it, bat simpljr that they may see tills manner of existing 
OS the nation itself sees it, and so participate in whaterer worth or beauty 
ft has brought into being. Of all literatures, accordingly, the German 
has the best as weU as the moat translations ; men like Goethe, Bchlller, 
Wieland, Hchlegel, TIeck, have not disdained this task. Of Bhakspeara 
there are three entire versions admitted to be good ; and we know not how 
many partial, or considered aa bad. In their criticisms of him we ourselyea 
have long ago admitted, that no such clear Judgment or hearty apprecii^ 
tion of his merits had erer been exhibited by any oritic of our own."— 
iCmiyl€*9 Euajftf p. 24.)— ^il. 

^ ** There are poets in that country who belong to a nobler class than 
most nations have to show in these days , a class entirely unknown to 
aome nations; and, for the last two oenturies, rara in all. We have no 
hesitation in stating, that wa sea in certain of the beat German poeta, and 
IkMa too of ow OWE tbatb, aoaatUaf wUoh MiookWi ih«a,i«aA\AV| «t 

8TTUB Ain) ysBSoioAnos. 18d 

Vcnificatioii is a peculiar art, the inTastigatioii of which ia 
inexhaustible : those words, which in the eonmum ralatioiia of 
life senre only as signs of thought, reach our soob thnmgfa tho 
rhythm of harmonious sounds, and afford ua a double enjoy- 

nearijr we sajr not, but which doos Msooiste Umn with the Hasten of Ait, 
the SalnU of Pootrj, long since departed, and, as we thought, withovl ■■•• 
eesaora, fhnn tho earth ; but oanonized in the hearts of all generatSoiMi and 
yet living to all by tho mcmoTy of what thej did and were. Olaneea we 
do Boem to find of that ethereal glory, whioh looks oniia In Sta fbll brifhS- 
ncfls fh>m the Tnu^figuraiion of Bafadle, flrom the Tmpmi of Bhakapeaie ; 
and in broken, bat pnrest and still heart-piereingbeaina, struggling throqgh 
the gloom of long ages, from the tragedies of Sophodes and the weather- 
worn sculptures of the Parthonon. ^niis is that hearenly aplrit, which, 
best seen in the aerial embodiment of poetry, but spreading likowiss evw 
all the thoughts and actions of an age, has gifea as BvTsys, BjdBSjBi Bsp 
leighs, in court and camp, CecUs in poUoy, Hookers la divlnitj, Bseeaa la 
philosophy, and Shalupeares and Spensers in song. AU hearts that knew . 
this, know it to be the highest ; and that, in poetry or elaewhers, il aleoe 
is true and imperishable. In affirming that any Testige, howsver flMblSp 
of this divine spirit, is discernible in German poetry, we sit awaie that we 
place it above the existiog poetry of any other nation. 

** To prove this bold assertion, logical arguments were at sU tlmsa «»• 
availing ; and, in the present circumstanoes of the ease, mors thaa asasnij 
so. Neither will any extract or specimen help ns ; for it Is not in ymts, 
but in whole poems, that the spirit of a true poet Is to be seen. We eaB| 
therefore, only name such men as Tieck, Riohter, Herder, Sohlller, aad, 
above all, Goethe ; and ask any reader who haa learned to adaaire w J sslj 
our own literature of Queen Elizabeth's age, to peruse these writen sbe; 
to study them till he feels that he has understood them, and josCly sail* 
mated both their light and darkness ; and then to pronoaaee whether it Is 
not, in some degree, as we have said. Are there not tones here ef that eld 
melody 7 Are there not glimpses of that serene soul, that eslm 
strength, that smiling earnestness, that Love and FSlth and 
of nature 7 Do these foreign contemporaries of ours stlU exhibit, ia 
characters as men, something of that sterling aoblehesa, that aaloa ef 
majesty with meekness, which we must ever venerate In those oar iplrll- 
uai fathers? And do their works, in the new form ef thta eeatoiy, shew 
forth that old nobleness, not oonsistent only with the Bdeace, the peed* 
don, the skepticism of these days, but wedded to them, iaeerpentad wUh 
them , and shining through them like their life and aool f Might U ia tnlh 
almost seem to us, in reading the prose of Goethe, as If we were 
that of Milton ; and of MUton writing with the culture ef this tlsse; 
bining French oleamess with old English depth f And of his peeU/ : 
It indeed be said that it if poetry end yet the peetiy ef oar ewa , 
tion ; an ideal world, and yet the world we even now life iat— These < 
tioBs we must leave esndid sad stodioos laqilren te eaewv Ite. 


mcDty which arises (torn tho onion of sensation and reflection ; * 
bat, if all languages are eqaally proper to express what wo 
think, they are not all eqnall/ so to impart what wo fool ; and 
the eflccts of poetry depend still more on tho melody of words 
than on the ideas which they serro to express. 

Tho Gorman is tho only modem langnago which has long 
and short syllables, like the Greek and Latin ; all the other 
European dialects are either more or less accented ; but verso 
cannot bo measured, hi tho manner of tho ancient^ according 
to the length of the sylhibles : accent gires unity to phrases, 
as well as to words. It is connected with the signiUcation of 
what is said : wo hiy a stress on that which is to dotermmo tho 
aenso ; and pronunciation, in thus marking particular words, 
refers them all to tho principal idea. It is not thus with tho 
musical duration of sound in language ; this is much moro 
favorable to poetry than accent, becauso it has no positiro 
object, and afTords only a high but indcfiiiito pleasure, like all 
other enjoyments that tend to no determinate purpose. Among 
the ancients, syllables were scanned according to tho nature of 
the TOwcls, and tho connection of their diflerent sounds : har- 
mony was tho only criterion. In Germany, all tlio accessory 
words are short, and it is grammatical dignity alone, that is to 
say, the importance of tho radical syllable, that determines its 
quantity ; there is less of charm in this species of prosody, than 
in tliat of the ancients, becanse it depends moro on abstract 
combinations than on involuntary sensation ; it is nevertheless 
a great advantage to any language, to havo in its prosody, that 
which may be sul^stituted for rhyme. 

Rhyme is a modem discovery ; it is connected with all our 
fine arts, and we should deprive ourselves of great effects by 
renouncing the use of it. It is the imago of hope and of mem- 
ory. One sound makes us desire another, corresponding to it ; 
and when tho second is heard, it recalls that which has just 

MWee ; premlilng only, that tlia seortt ii not to bo fonnd on tho sarfaoo ; 
tkat tho flrat ropljr if Hkel/to bo la tho nogftUro, bnl wIUi Inqoiron of 
thk tort, by no aooni Ukoly to bo tho final oni."-l(C«nMi'« Eaam. Svq 

•aitioa, p. as.>-.u. 

#k "Jh** "J** »**.. - " —-^ •-i.i^ - 

fiTTLB Ajsn} YKBoanmATsm. . 181 

escaped 08. Thin agrecablo regalority mait^ noTorihoIoii^ bt 
prqjudical to nature in the dramatio art» aa woU m to boldnew 
in the epic Wo can scarcely do withoat rhymOy In idlomi^ 
wliero the prosody is but little marked : and yet tho iMtnints 
of construction may, in certain languages, bo locli, that a bold 
and contemplative poet may find it necdbit to mako w lonribia 
of the harmony of Terdification withoat the sattjoction of riqrine, 
Klopstock has banished Alexandrines from German pootrj ; bo' 
has sabstitutcd in their stead, hoxametom, and lombio Tonoi^ 
without rhyme, according to the practice of tho BngUah^ wUch 
give much greater liberty to the iroaginatioa. Alozandrino 
verses are very ill adapted to German pootry ; wo mkj oon- 
rinco ourselves of this by the poems of the groat Haller Urn* 
self, whatever merit tliey may in other respects possoss ; a lan- 
guage, tho pronmiciation of which is so sonorous^ doafou us - 
by the repetition and uniformity of tho hemisUchs. .Bolides^ 
this kind of versification calls for sentence and antithoBOi ; and 
the Gorman genius is too scrupulous and too sinooro to adopt 
those antitliescs, which never present ideas or hnagei la their 
perfect truth, or in their most exact shades of distinction. Tho 
harmony of hexameters, and especially of onrhymod iambb 
verses, is only natural harmony inspired by sentimont ; it ii 
a marked and distinct declamation, while tho Akouuidrina 
verse imposes a certain species and turn of oxproflsion, from 
which it is dlfllcult to got free. Tlie composition of this kind 
of verse is even entirely independent of poetio genios ; wo msj 
possess it without having that gonius ; and on tho oontraiji 
it ispoasible to be a great poet, and yet feel incapablo of 00B> 
forming to the restrictions which this kind of verio impoiea. 

Our best lyrical poets, in France, are, perhaps, oar groat' 
prose writers, — Bossuet, Pascal, F6nclon, Buffon, JeaaJaoqiM 
[Rousseau] , etc The despotism of Alexandrines often profonti 
us iVom putting into verse tliat wlucli, notwithstanding, wonid 
be true poetry ; while in foreign nations, versification being 
much more easy and natural, every poetical thought inipiM 
verse, and, in general, prose is left to reason and argnmenk^ 
We might de{^ Badne himself to trandato Into French 

192 ifA' nAiffg DIB STASl'b OERICAKT. 

Pindar, Petrarch, or Elopstock, wlthoat giving a character on* 
natarol to them. These poets hare a^ kUid of boldness which 
is seldom to be foand, except in languages which are capable 
of uniting all the charms of versification with perfect originali> 
tj ; and this, m the lE^rench, can onlj bo done in prose. 

One of the greatest advantages of the Germanio dialects in 
poetry, is the variety and beauty of their epithets. Hie Ger- 
man, in this respect also, may be compared to the Greek ; in 
a single word, wo perceive many images, as in the principal 
note of a concord we have all the sounds of which it is com* 
ix>8cd, or as certain colors which revive in us the perception 
of those with which they are immediately connected. In 
French, wu say only what we mean to say ; and we do not seCi 
wandering around our words, .those clouds of countless forms 
which surround the poetry of the northern languages, and 
awak::n a crowd of recollections. To the liberty of forming 
one <^pithct out of two or three, is added that of animating 
the I.'iDguage by making nouns of verbs ; living^ willing^ feeU 
ing, are all expressions less abstract than life, will, and senti- 
; jcnt ; and whatever changes thought into action gives more 
animation to the style. The facility of reversing the construc- 
tion of a phrase, according to inclination, is also very favorable 
to poetry, and gives the power of exciting, by the varied means 
of versification, impressions analogous to those of painting and 
music. In short, the general spirit of the Teutonic dialects is 
independence. The first object of their writers is to transmit 
what they feel ; they would willingly say to poetry what He- 
loise said to her lover : '* If there be a word more true, more 
tender, and more strongly expressive of what I feel, that word 
I would choose." In France the recollection of what is suita- 
ble and becoming in society, pursues genius even to its most 
secret motions : and the dread of ridicule is like the sword of 
Damocles, which no banquet of the imagination can ever make 
OS forget. 

In the arts, we often speak of the merit of conquering a dif* 
ficulty ; it is said, nevertheless, with reason, that eUAer tU dxf* 
/kuUyii mai fdt, amd tkm U is no diffimU^.m iXu JfU.OMid 

t • 

FOKTBT. 198 

It tkm not iumumnUd. The fctton impoMd on fhe mind 
tainly gi^^ a spring to its powon of aotion; but than k oftos 
in tnio genias a tort of awkwardnosii sUnilar in miim iM p a cti 
to the oodulity of sincere and noble souls; and wa ahoidd do 
wiong in endeayoring to sabject it to arbitniy reatrietioiiii 
Ibr it would free itself from them with rnnbh gieatsr diffieolty 
than talents of a second-rate order. 



TnxT which is truly divine in the heart of man cannot be 
defined ; if there be words for some of its fcaturesi there are 
none to express the whole together, particularly the mystery 
of true beauty in all its ▼ariotics. It is easy to say what poe* 
try is not ; but if we would comprehend what it is, we most 
call to our assistance the impressions excited by a fine country, 
harmonious music, the sight of a favored object, and, above all, 
a religious sentiment which makes us fed within ourselves the 
presence of the Deity. Poetry is the natural langtiage of all 
worship. The Bible is full of poctiy ; Homer is full of rali* 
gion : not that there are fictions in the Bible, or doctrines in 
Homer; but enthusiasm concentrates different sentiments in 
the same focus ; enthusiasm is the incense offered by earth to 
heaven ; it unites the one to the other. 

The gift of revealing by speech the internal feelings of tho 
heart is very rare ; there is, however, a poetical spirit in all 
beings who are capable of strong and lively affections : expres- 
sion is wanting to those who have not exerted themsdvea to 
find it It may be said, that the poet only disengages the 
sentiment that was imprisoned in his souL Poetic genioa ia 
an internal disposition, of the same nature with that whioh 
renden as capable of a gisneioua iiMX)&»b« *1^% ^mgd^obSqm^ 

Vol, 1,^9 

of a fine ode is a heroic traoee. If gonio8 were not Tcreatile^ 
it would as often inspire fine actions as affecting expressions ; 
fer thejboth eqnsllj spring from a consciousness of Uiebeaati- 
fid whkh is felt within ns. 

A man of superior talent said that ** prose was &ctitiouS| 
and poetry natural ;** and, in fact, nations little ciTilized b^n 
always with poetry ; and whenever a strong passion agitates 
the sooly the most common of men make use, unknown to 
themselVeSi of images and metaphors; they call exterior na- 
tora to their assistance, to express what is inexpressible within 
thcmsdves. Common people are much nearer being poets, 
than men accustomed to good society ; the rules of politenessi 
and delicate raillery, are fit only to impose limits, they cannot 
impart inspiration. 

In this world there is an endless contest between poetry 
and prose ; but pleasantry must always place itself on the side 
of prose, for to jest is to descend. Tlie spirit of society is, 
however, very favorable to that gay and graceful poetry of 
which Ariosto, La Fontaine, and Voltaire are the most bril- 
liant models. Dramatic poetry is mlmirnble in our first writers ; 
descriptive, and, above all, didntic poetry have been carried by 
the French to a very high degree of perfection ; but it does 
not appear that they have hitherto been called on to distin- 
guish themselves in lyric or epic poetry, such as it was formerly 
conceived by tlie ancients, and at present by foreigners. 

Lyric poetry is expressed in the name of the author himself; 
he no longer assumes a character, but experiences in his own 
person, the various emotions he describes. J. B. Rousseau, in 
his devotional odes, and Racine, in his Athalie, have shown 
themselves lyric poets. They were imbued with a love of 
psalmody, and penetrated wiUi a lively faith. Nevertheless, 
the difficulties of the language and of French versification are 
frequently obstacles to this delirium of enthusiasm. Wo may 
quote admirable strophes in some of our odes, but have we 
any complete ode in which the Muse has not abandoned the 
poett Fine verses are not always poetry; inspiration in the 
arts is an inexhaustible source, which vivifies the whole, from 

(lie first word to the last. Love, ctyimtrj, bitii, ftll »re divini- I 
tic* in an ode. It la the apotbeosii of Mutimcnt In order to 
coDccivo tho truo grandeur of lyric poctiy, we mutt wuider ia 
tliought into the ethereal rcgioDS, forget tho tatnult of earth in 
listening to cclcstjal bartnony, and consider tho wholo nniTorM 
aa a ejinbol of tho emotions of tho soul. 

The enigma of human dc«tiny ia nothing to the genentli^ 
of men ; tho poet has it always prcaont to his imagiaation. 
Tho idea of death, which doprcucs vulgar minds, giro* to 
genius additional boldness ; and tho mixture of tho beautiea at 
nataro with tho terrors of disaoliition, excites aa indcscribabia 
delirium of happiness and terror, without which wo can noithsr J 
comprehend nor describe tho spcctaclo of this world. Jjyao 1 
poetry relates nothing, is not confined to the sncccssion tt \ 
time, or tho limits of spaco ; it spreads its wingi over countriM 
and over ages ; it gives duration to tho sublime moment in 
which man rises superior to tho pains and pleasures of lifs. 
Amid the wonders of the world, ho feels himself a being at 
once crcntor and created ; who must die, and yet cannot coaso 
to be, and whose heart, trembling, yet at tho same time pow- 
erful, takes pride in itself, yet prostrates ilGclf bcfora God, 

Tho Germane, ot once uniting tho powers of imagination ■ 
und reflection (qualities which very rarely meet), are mor« 
capable of lyric poetry than most other nations, Tho niod> 
oms cannot give up a certain profundity of ideas, to which 
tlioy have been habitiinted by a religion completely spiritual;- 
and yet, nevertheless, if this profundity woro not invested with 
images, it would not bo poetry : nature thon must bo aggran* 
dizod in tho eyes of men, before they can oroploy it as tlio 
omblem of their thoughts. Groves, Sowers, and rivers woro 
sufllciont for tho poets of paganism; but the solitndo of for- 
ests, tho boundless ocean, tho starry firmament, can scarcely 
express tlio eternal and tho ioAnilo, which pervade and flU the 
soul of Cliristians. 

Tho Germans possess no epio poom any moro than ourwlvea ; 
this admirable species of composition does not appoor to ba 
granted to tho modems, and porhapa the lliod alone oompleteljr 

198 icADixB i»i sxasl's gsbkast. 

■Diwai our ideal of it To finrm an epie pooniy a partieiilai 
eombinalioii of oirciiiiistaiioei^ inch aa oocorred only among 
tibo 6f«ek% ia reqoiaita^ togother witb the imagmalioii die* 
pittjed in heroie timeii Mid tfie peifection of language peeuliar 
to mora dnliaed perioda. In tbe middle agea, imagination 
waa atnmg^ bat the language imperfect; in our daja, iMgaage 
ia poie^ but the imagination defeetife. The Geimana hnTO 
miMh boldnem in their ideaa and atjle, but litUe intention in 
the plan of their aabject: their eaMtya in the epio almoat 
dwsyi leaemble the ehaneter of lyrio poetry; thoee of the 
Rendi bear a atronger affinity to the dramatiOi and we die* 
cofer in them more of interest than of grandeur. When the 
object ia to pkaae on the atage^ the art of cireomacribing ona^a 
■dtwithinagiTenapaoeiOf gneanogatthetaateofapectatoiai 
and bending to it with adcbeaai ficMrma a part of the aoeceaa; 
bat in the compoaition of an epic poem, nothing moat depend 
on external and transient circnmstancca. It exacts abaolate 
beanties — ^beauties which may strike the solitary reader, oven 
when his sentiments are most natural, and his imagination most 
emboldened. lie who hazards too much in an epic poem would 
possibly incur severe censure from the good taste of the French ; 
but he who hazards nothing would not be the less condemned. 
It must be acknowledged, that in improving the taste and 
language of his country, Boileau has given to French genius 
a dispotttion very unfavorable to poetic composition. He has 
apoken only of tiiat which ought to be avoided, he has dwelt 
only on precepts of reason and wisdom, which have introduced 
into literature a sort of pedantry, very prejudicial to the sub- 
lime energy of the arts. In French, we have masterpieces of 
▼enufication; but how can we call mere versification poetry I 
To render into verse what should have remained in proae, to 
express, in linea of ten syllables, like Pope, the minuteat detaila 
of a game at carda: or, as in some poems which have lately 
appeared among ua, draughta, cheas, and chemistry, ia a tridk 
of legerdemain in worda: it ia compoaing with worda what we 
call a poem, in the aame manner aa, with notea of muaiei we 
oompoae a aonata. 

POSIBT. 197 

A great knowledge of the poetic trt if| liow«f«r, 
to enable an antlior thus admirably to describe objects wUeh 
yield so little scope to the imaginatioDi and we have rsasdi to 
admire some detached pieces in those galleries of pietnies; 
bot the internals by which they are separated are neeessarily 
prossic, like that which passes in the mbd of the writer. ^ 
says to himself **! will make Terses on this sabjeeti then on 
thati and afterwards on this also;** and, withont peroeinng it, 
he intrusts us with a knowledge of the manner in which he 
pursnes his work. The true poet» it may be aaidi eonodinB 
his whole poem at once in his soul, and, were it not for the 
difficulties of language, would pour forth his extemporaaeoM 
effusions, the sacred hynms of genius, as the ubyla and proph- 
ets did in ancient times. He is agitated by his eonoeptions as 
by a real event of his life ; a new world is opened to him; flM 
sublime image of every various situation and chaimeteri ef 
every beauty in nature, strikes his eye ; and his heart pants 
for that celestial happiness, the idea of which, like lif^tiiing^ 
gives a momentary splendor to the obscurity ot his fiite. Po- 
etry is a momcntuy possession of all our soul deairea; gemns 
makes the boundaries of existence disappear, and tnnsCnnna 
into brilliant images the uncertain hope <rf mortala. 

It would be easier to describe the symptoms of genina than 
to give precepts for the attainment of it Genius, like byve, is 
felt by the strong emotions with which it penotratea him who 
is endowed with it; but if we dared to advise where natovs 
should be the only guide, it is hot merely literaiy eomsel that 
we should give. We should speak of poets, aa to dtiaeaa aal 
heroes; we should say to them, Be virtuous, be &ithfiil| be 
fireo ; respect what is dear to you, seek imihortaltty in lof% 
and the Deity in nature ; in short, sanctify your soul aa a tSHK 
pie, and the angel of noble thoughts wiU not disdam to afpear 
in it 


or OLusia aits xohaxtio poxtht. 

Tbk word nmantie bu been lately introdaeed in Otfrmanj 
to deaignato tlut kind of pootiy which ia derived Iroro tho eong* 
■^ of the Tronbadonn', that which owes its birth to the Tnion of 
jjuTolrj and Chrirtianity. If we do not admit that tho empire 
«rf literature hat been divided between paganism and Christian- 
ity, the North and the Boath, antiqaity and the middle ogts, 
chivalry and tho institntiona of Greece and Borne, we shall 
never sncceod in forming a philosophical judgment of ancient 
and of modem taetc. 

Wo sometimes consider tho word classic as synonymons with 
perfection. I asc it at prcscDt in a different acceptation, con- 
sidering cliusio poetry os that of the ancients, and romantic, 
•s that which ia generally connected with tho traditions of 
chivalry. This division is equally saitable to the two enu of 
the world, — that whioh preceded, and that which followed the 
establishment of Christianity, 

In variouR Gonnon works, ancient poetry has also been com- 
pared to sculpture, and rotnantio to painting; in short, tho 
progress of the human mind lias been characterized in every 
manner, passing from material religions to thooo which are 
apiritual, from nature to the Deity. 

Tho French nation, certainly the most cultivated of oil that 
are derived from I^tin origin, inclines towards classic poetry 
imitated from tho Greeks and Romans. ^Dio English, the most 
iUoBtrioua of the Germanic nations, is more attached to that 
which owes its birth to chivalry and lomance; and it prides 
Itself on the admirable compositions of tliis sort which it po»> 
■ctscs. I will not, in this place, oxamino which of thcM two 
Idnd* of poetry deserves the prebniuw; H U «Q:{&iJtu& \a 


thcnr, diAt tbo diyeiBities of taste on this ralgaet do not aunlj 
•pring from accidental causesi bat aro derivod abo fiom flM 
primitive sources of imaginatioii and thonghC^ 

There is a kind of simplicity both in the epio poanif aal 
tragedies of the ancients; because at that time men wwe coin* 
pletolj the children of nature, and belieTed theniidvei eos- 
trolled by fate, as absolutely as nature herBelf is eontiollad \j 
necessity, Man, reflecting but little, always bore the aetioD of 
his soul without; even conscience was represented by exienal 
objects, and the torch of the Furies shook the homn of r^ 
morse over the head of the guilty. In ancient tune% men at* 
tended to events alone, but among the modemai character a 
of greater importance ; and that nneaqr refleetioiii whklii Bks 
the vulture of Prometheus, often internally devours ns^ woold 
have been folly amid circumstances and rdationa so dear 
and decided, as they existed in the civil and social state of the 

. When the art of sculpture began in Greeee, single statnes 
alone wore formed ; groups were composed at a later period. 
It might be said with equal truth, that there were no gronps 
in any art : objects were represented in snecoasion, as in bas- 
reliefs, witliout combination, without complication of any kind. 
Man personified nature ; nymphs inhabited the wateiii bamap 
dryads tlie forests; but nature, in turn, poisesiod henwif of 
man ; and, it might be said, he resembled the torrsnti the 
thunderbolt, the volcano, so wholly did he act from invelnn- ■ 
tary impulse, and so insufficient was reflection in any lespee^ 
to alter the motives or Uie consequences of his actions. Ike 
ancients, thus to speak, possessed a corporeal soaI| and ita 
emotions wore all strong, decided^ and'CO^tralTit ia bM 
the same with the human heart as developed by CShristiaai^t 
the modems have derived from Christian repentance e cottstanl 
habit of self-reflection. 

But in order to manifest tliis kind of IntonMl-eKisfteiio^ a 
groat variety of outward foots and circumstances must displaji 
under every form, tlio innumerable sliadei and gradatieas cf 
that which is passing In the louU If in oar daya the fine aiti 

200 KADUCB in aiAXL's oxBicAinr. 

wcro confined to tho rimplicitx of tho ancients, we shoald neT« 
er attain that primitive strcngUi which distingaiahcs thenii 
and we riio nld lose feoee intimate and multiplied ep iotiont of 
which oar sods are tUBCcptible. J^^oj^icitjLifiJ^ojprta would, 
among the modcma, easily dcfflsnerate into coldness andab* 
stracUon, while that of the ancients was fall of life andaniina- 
tion. Honor and lovCi valor and pity, were the sentiments 
which distinguished the Christianity of chivalrous ages; and 
tliose dispositions of the soul could only be displayed by dan« 
gens exploits, love, misfortunes — ^that romantic interest, in 
short, by which pictures are incessantly varied. The sources 
from which art derives its effect are then very difibrent in clas- 
sic poetry and in that of romance ; in one it is fate which 
reigns, in the other it is Providence. Fate counts the senti- 
ments of men as nothing; but Providence judges of actions 
according to those sentiments. Poetry must necessarily create 
a world of a very different nature, when its object is to paint 
the work of destiny, which is both blind and deaf, maintaining 
an endless contest with mankind; and when it attempts to 
describe that intelligent order, over which the Supreme Being 
continually presides, — that Being whom our hearts supplicate, 
and who mercifully answers their petitions ! 

The poetry of the pagan world was necessarily as simple 
and well defined as the objects of nature ; while that of Chris- 
tianity requires the various colors of the rainbow to preserve 
it from being lost in the clouds. The poetry of the ancients 
is more pure as an art ; that of the modems more readily calls 
forth our tearsl But our present object is not so much to de- 
cide between classic and romantic poetry, properly so called, 
AA between the imitation of the one and the inspiration of the 
other. The literature of the ancients is, among the modems, 
a transplanted literature ; that of chivalry and romance is in- 
digenous, and flourishes under the influence of our religion 
and our institutions. Writfiza,. who. are imitators of the an- 
cients, have subjected theAUKdves to the rules of strict taste 
alone; for, not being able to consult either their own nature 
or their own recollectionst it is. necessary for them to conform 



to those Iaws by \^'hicli tho chc/s-d'auvre of the ancientt zua/ 
bo adapted to our taste ; though tho cJrcnimtanooa both polilp 
ical and roligioua, whieh gavo birth to those chtft^mrnvrt 
aro all entirely changed. Uut tho pootrj written ia imitatkNi 
of the ancients, however perfect in its kindv is seldom popnlsr, 
because, in our days, it has no connection whaterer irith oar 
lational feelings.' 

> " A fow words on thin mneh-talkod of Mhool msj not be nnaow pUb lSi 
Like lu offupring, I,^£col4 Jiomanitqus In Fnnoo, it had a crltied paipOM 
which WA8 (cood, and a rotrofpnulo purpoM which wu bad. Both wwt b* 
■orgont against narrow critical canons, both probbdmsd the sn pwfa ri ty il 
Modioral Art ; both sought, in Catholicism and la nitlona] 1agimii,mssa 
Inga profoiindcr tlinn tliono currrnt in tho litoratnrt of tho da/* la athsr 
respects thcRO sdiools greatly difforod. Tho Sehtfgola, Ttook, Novallt, and 
Wemor, had no onemjr to combat in tho ahapa of a aaran «»«»»^»— i isala, 
auch as opposed the tentativea of Victor lingo, Domaa, and Alftid ds 
Vignj. On the contrary, thej wcro snpportod by a laijga bodj of tha asp 
tion, for their theorioa only carried Airthar oertaia tandanalsi wkloh had 
becomo general. Thus in as far as theao thooriea wan oritioal, thay wtft 
little more than jubilates over the victorious campaigns woo 1^ Lcashig, 
llerder, Goethe, and Schiller. The Schtegola atood apon the batth fclJ, 
now ailent, and sang a hymn of victory over tha bodiaa of the alafai. VM- 
eriok Schlegcl, by many degrees the moat oooaiderabto Cfitle of thb aaboal, 
began his career witli an Anthology from Leaaing's works: ZmimfB Om4; 
wuMununkw ftiner Ansitkten ; he ended it with adndiatkm tePUUp 
the Second, and the cruel Alva, and with tho prodamatiiwi thaS Osldsfaa 
waa a greater poet than Shakspcare. Frederick Schlagal tbns lifnaaBli 
the whole romanUe school iVom ita origin to ita dosa. 

" Fichte, Sehelling, Schleiermacher, and Solgar, aM ths pM lssop b wa of 
this school ; from £a two former cama tha onoa IhmoiaB, now akassl fci^ 
gotten, principle of ' Irony,' which Hegel^ not only dl ap oasd of ss a pito* , 
ciple, but showed that tho critics themselvoa made no aaa of iL ladasd, 
the only serious instanoo of ita application I romemboTi la ths iagsalosa 
easay by Schleiermacher on the * Irony of Sophodaa,' tnaslstsd far te 
Olaitieal Jiusium by tha preaent Biahop of St. David*a» No ons. not Sfsa 
Tieck, attempted to exhibit tha * irony* of Shakipoan, ths god of tbrir 
idolatiy. Among the services rendered by Tlaok aad Ju W. fitiilnpl, 
tha translation of Shakspearo muat never ba foigottsa, Ibr slthini^ tlMI 
tranalation la by no meana so accurate aa Gennana a op posSi bsiaf sAss 
misersbly weak, and aometimea groaaly mlatakan In Us liilansslsltsn SI 
the meaning, It la nevextheleas a tianalatlon whlflbi on tho wMs, 
pariiapa no rival in literature, and haa aarvad to SMks 
miliar to ths Gannana aa to na. 

I Jbthetlk,t.p|^SI«Sa 



The French being the most classical of all modern poetiji 
b of all others least calculated to become familiar among the 
lower orders of the people. The stanzas of Tasso are sung by 
the gondoliers of Venice ; the Spaniards and Portugese, of all 

'* In their crnBade against tlio French, in their natanilixation of Shak- 
•peare, and their furtherance of Hcrder'a efforts towards the restoraUon of 
a ballad literature, and the taste for Gothic Architeotare, those Bomanti- 
dsts were with the stream. Thej also flattered the national tendenoiea 
when thef prochunied * mythology and poetry, symbolical legend and art, 
to be one and IndiTisible,'* whereby it became dear that a new Beligion, 
or at any rate a new Mythology, was needed, for * the deepest want and 
defldeney of all modem Art Ilea in the iSict that the artists haTo ho My- 

*' While Fichte, SchelUng, and Schleiermacher were tormented with the 
denre to create a new philosophy and a new religion, it soon became eri- 
dent that a Mythology was not V> be created by programme ; and as a 
Mythology was indispensable, the Komanticists betoolc themselves to C»- 
tholidsm, with its saintly legends and saintly heroes ; some of them, aa 
Tieck and A. W. Schlcgel, out of nothing more than a poetic enthasiasm 
and dilettanteism : others, as F. Schlcgel and Werner, with thorough con- 
viction, accepting Catholicism and all its consequences. 

** Solgcr had called Irony the daughter of Mystidsm ; and how highly 
thcscRoxnantidsts prized Mypticism is know to i^l readers of Novolis. To 
be mystical was to bo poetical as well as profound ; and our critics glorified 
medieval monstrosities because of * their deep spiritualism,' which stood 
m contrast with the pagan materialism of Goethe and Schiller. Once com- 
menced, this movement rushed rapidly onwards to the confines of non- 
tense. Art became the handmaid of Keligion. The universal canon was 
laid down (and still lingers in some quarters), that only in the service of 
Seligion had Art ever flourisbcd,^n]y in Uiat service could it flourish. 
Art became a propagande. Fra Angelico and Calderon suddenly became 
idols. Theory was bursting with absurdities. Werner was proclaimed a 
Colossus by Wackcnroder, who wrote his Jlentfuer^fUuungen Hnes Kurui- 
Munden KloaUrbntderB^ with Tiock's aid, to prove, said Goethe, that be- 
cause some monks were artists, all artists should turn monks. Then it 
was, men looked to Faith for mirades in Art. Devout study of the Bible 
was thought to be the readiest means of rivalling Fra An^lioo and Van 
£yck ; a hair-shirt was inspiration. The painters went over in crowds to 
the Boman Church. Cornelius and Overbeck lent real geniua to the at* 
tempt to revive the dead forms of early Christian art, as Goethe and Schil- 
ler did to revive the dead forms of Grecian art. Overbeck, who painted in 
a doistcr, was so thoroughly penetrated by the asoetio spirit, tliat ho ra- 
ibaed to draw from the living model, lest it ahonld make his works too 
i; for to be tnie to Nators was tantamoant to being fidse to the 

9.%^\tm^'.Ompi^t^$%k§tfm9U,^Uk •IbUiv^tTl 


nnloi know by heart tho Tonot of CUdenm aAd Gunota. 
Shokspciro is as much admired bj the popniaoe in Eoghnd 
as by thoBO of a higher class. The poema oif Goethe and BlU»* 
gerare set to masic, and repeated from the banks of theBUnt 
to the shores of the Baltic. Oor Itench poeta are admind 
wherever there are cultivated minds, either in oar own natioa, 
or in the rest of Europe ; but they are quite nnknown to the 
common people, and even to the class of citisena in our towasi 

higher tendencies of spiritaoUim. ConieUiit, mon of an artfaSi bad los 
much of the aiti«tio instinct to cany his principles into thcM tzaggentloao; 
hut others less gifted, and more higoted, carried thooo prindqploa into ofiiy 
excess. A hand of these reformers estahlished themoelTM in Bomo, nd 
astonished the Catholics qnito as much as the Plotcttanta. Cotar MmUI, 
in his worlc JM PuriHi in PiUmra thus describes them: *8«vtnl jonf 
men came to Borne from Northern Germanf in 1809. Thej oljnnd IM- 
estantism, adopted the oostume of the Middle .^gei, and b^gui to pnsA 
the doctrine that painting had died ont with Giotto, tad to rariTO it, e i^ 
currence to tho old style was necessary. Under snch e mask of pietj thiy 
GCinccaled their nullity. Senrile admirers of the mdest periods in Art, thij 
duclorod the pigmies were giants, and wanted to bring us bock to tlie diy 
hard stylo and harbarons imperfection of a BniTalmaooo, Calandrino, Fsolo 
UccoUo, when wo had a Kapliacl, a Titian, and a Corr^jSP^* la qrflo of 
the exaggerations of these admirers of the Trecentisti, ia spits of o do»> 
trine which was fundamentally vicious, the Bomanticists ludo o deddsd 
revolotion, and they stiU keep tho lead in painting. WhstoTor naj hs 
thought of the * Gcnnan School,' it must be oonfesood tlist wtQ On^ 
beck, Comelint, Schodow, Uess, Leasing, Uabner, Bohn, and Kanlbadi, 
the Germans had no painters at all ; and they have in thsas men paintvs 
of very remarkable power.' 

'* Soch was the new school and its doctrine. BaphaoJ is not mon aaCaf* 
onistio to Fra Angolico, Titian is not more antagoniatio to Albait Banr, 
than Goethe and Schiller were to the hectic NoTaUa and tiio dandy SeUa- 
geL Nevertheless, it is certain that their culture of Befloction on the ont 
hand, and of Imitation on tho other, aided the Bomantie movement man 
than their own works and strivings retarded ik That moTomant baa long 
come to a stand-still in literature, and its Jodgmenthaa been prononnead; 
but with muoh obvious misohief it brought many obviooa advantagoi, and 
no student of modem literature will refuse his acknowledgoMal to the aar- 
vices rendered by Boroantidsm in making tho Bliddle Agea mora thoinagh^ 
understood."— (Lewes, OodhtU Uf4 wnd Workt, voL iL pp. llf-iaa.)— JUL 

I Oor own Prs-BaphaellU School Is s ehtld of the Beountle S^haaL 
SHursd hy the genios of MllUls and Haat, la spite of the tbeentteal 
malB(sln,sadbythelrfldtUly toHataiei la this Istlffrsipsctthijara the 
ef the BMBSOtlolsta 


becKDM tb« Arte, in France, are oot, u eUewIien, natirei of 
the very conntay in which their buntica an diipUyed. 

Somo French critics bsTO asserted that Gorman literature ia 
•till in its infancy. This opinion is entirely &lse; men who 
an best skilled in the knowledge of languages ftnd the works 
of the ancients, are certainly not ignorant of the defects and 
advantages attached to fte species of literature which thoj 
either adopt or Teject;[])pt their character, their habits, and 
their modes of reasoning, hare led them to prefer that which / 
is founded on the recollection of chivalry, on the wonders of . 
the middle ages, to that which has for its basis the mythology : \ 
of the Greeks. Bomantic literature is alone capable of further I \ 
improrenient, because, being rooted in our own soil, that alone , | 
can continao to grow and acquire fresh liEs : it expiessea our i ) 
religion ; it recalls onr history ; its origin is andent, although . 
not of classical antiqoit^j 

Classic poetry, before it comes home to us, mnit pass 
throQgb onr recollections of paganism : that of the Germans 
is the Christian en of the fine arts; it employs onr personal ' 
impressions to excite strong and virid emotions ; the genius 
by which it is inspired addresses itself immediately to onr 
hearts, and seems to call forth the spirit of onr own liTea, of 
all phantoms at once the most poweifiil and the most terrible 



From the Tarioua reflections contained in the preceding 
chapter, I think we must conclude that there is scarcely any 
xlaane poetry in Germany — whether we consider it as imitated 
from the ancients, or whether by the word classic we merely 
understand the highest degree of perfection. The frnitfoL m' 
aginatioaof the Gonus Teadi tlutn to fiodnM, nAMt VSuo. 


to correct; and therefore it would be Teiydiflkiilt to foole h 
their literataro any writings generally acknowledged aa modeh. 
Their language is not fixed; taste changea with mwnj MW 
production of men of genius; all is progres si va, all goea oD| 
and the stationary point of perfection is not yet attained; but 
is this an evilf In all those nationa which have latterad 
themselves with having reached it, the aympUma of deeay 
have been almost immediately perceived, and imitators haia 
succeeded classical writers, as if for the pupoae oi di ^ u aiim 
us with their writings. 

In Germany there are as many poets as in Italy; the midti- 
tude of attempts, of whatever kind they may be, indicatea tba 
natural disposition of a nation. When the love of art ia 
universal in it, the mind naturally takea a direction towaida 
poetry, as elsewhere towards politics or mercantile interestai 
Among the Greeks there was a crowd of poets; and nothing 
is more favorable to genius than being surrounded with a great 
number of men who follow the same career. Artista are indnl* 
gent when judging of faults, because the diflBcnlties of an ait 
are known to them ; but they exact much before they bestow 
approbation; great beauties and new beautiea must be pn^ 
duced, before any work of art can in their eyea equal the efcf^ 
<Pc8uvre which continually occupy their thoughts. The Ger- 
mans write extempore, if we may so express it, and thia great 
&cility is the true sign of genius in the fine arts ; fbr, like the 
fiowers of the South, they ought to bloom without ealtme; 
labor improves them ; but imagination is abundant, when a 
liberal nature has imparted it to man. It is impossible to 
mention all the German poets who would deserve a aepaiate 
eulogy ; I will confine myself merely to the consideration, and 
that in a general manner, of the three schools which I have 
already distinguished, when I pointed out the historieal pio- 
gress' of German literature. 

Wieland in his tales has imitated Voltaire, and often Loeiaii. 
also, who, in a philosophical point of view, might be called the . 
Voltaire of antiquity ; sometimes, too, he haa imitated Aiioalo^ 
and nnfortnnately) s]bo CM\»Iksn« Ha haa lendend 


tales of chivalry into rene — ^namely, Gandalin, Giron le Cour 
toisy Obcron, &e^ in which there is more sensibility than in 
Ariosto^ but always less of grace and gayety. The German 
does not glide over all subjects with the ease and lightness of 
the Italian; and the pleasantries suitable to a language so 
overchaiged with consonants, are those connected with the art 
of strongly characterizing a subject, rather than of indicating 
it imperfcM^tly. Idiis and the New Amadis are fairy tales, in 
which at every page the virtue of women is the subject of 
those everlasting pleasantries, which cease to be immoral, be- 
eause they have become tiresome. Wieland's talcs of chivalry 
appear to me much superior to his poems imitated from the 
Greek — Musarion,Endymion,Ganym(Kle,the Judgment of Paris, 
dsc Talcs of chivalry are national in Germany. The natural 
genius of the language, and of its poets, is well adapted to the 
art of painting the exploits and the loves of those knights and 
heroines, whom) sentiments were at Uio same time so strong 
and so simple, so benevolent and so determined ; but in at- 
tempting to unite modern grace with Grecian subjects, Wioland 
has necessarily rendered them affected. Tboso who endeavor 
to modify ancient taste by that of the modems, or modem 
taste by that of the ancients, are almost always so. To be 
secure from this danger, we must treat each of these subjects 
entirely according to its own nature. 

Obcron passes in Germany almost for an epic poem. It is 
founded on a tale of French chivalry, Iluon de Bourdcaux, of 
which M. de Trcssan has given us an abstract ; and Oberon the 
Genius, with Titania the Fairy, just such as Sbakspeare has 
described them in the play of the ** Midsummer Night*s 
Dream,** constitute the mythology of the poem. The subject 
is given by our old romantic writers ; but we cannot too much 
admire the poetry with which Wieland has enriched it Pleas- 
antly, drawn from the marvellous, is there handled with much 
grace and originality. Huon is sent into Polestine, in conse- 
quence of various adventures, to ask the daughter of the sul- 
tan in nutrriage ; and when the gravest personages who q\)^2(mi^ 
that mMiriMge aiv al/ set dancbg, at the sound ot \]bL^ vOk^x^ASi 


horn wliich he possesses, we an never tired hj the diUd 
repetition of the comic effect it prodneet ; and the better ihe 
poet has described the pedantie graTitjr of the imanna and 
tixiers at the court of the saltan, the more hia veadna aie 
amused by their involuntary dance. When Oberon enNS 
the two lovers through the air in a winged ear, the tMiwef 
that prodigy is dissipated by the leenrity with which leva i^ 
spires them. ^In vain,^ says the poet, ''earth disqipeaia Is 
their sight ; in vain night covers the atmoqihera with her daft 
wings; a heavenly b'ght beams in their tmler glanoea; fhar < 
souls mutually reflect each other; night is no longer ugjitftr 
them; elysium surrounds them; the son enli^^tena tte it* 
cesses of their hearts, and love every momoDt ahowa thsa 
objects, always new and always delightfoL" Senaifalli^ is Ml 
in general much connected with the marvoUona : there ia aon^ 
tiling so serious in the affections of the soul, that wa like Ml 
to see them drawn forth with the sports of the imaginalioa; 
but Wioland has tlio art of uniting iantastio fietioiia with tns 
sentiments, in a manner peculiar to himselil 

The baptism of the sultan*s daughter, who beeomea aCli» 
tian in order to marry Huon, is also a most beantiiiil passes' 
to change one*s religion for the sake of love is a Utile proCns; 
but Christianity is so truly the religion of the heaiti thai Is 
love with devotion and purity is already to be a 
Oboron has made the young people promise not to give 
selves up to each other till their arrival in Borne; thejan 
together in the same ship, and, separated from the woild, bit 
induces them to violate Uioir vow. The tempest ia thee hi 
loose, tlio winds blow, the billows roar, and the aaib'aie ton; 
the masts are destroyed by the thunderbolt; the paassagiB 
bewail themselves, the sailors cry for help : at length the Vi^ 
sel splits, the waves threaten to swallow them np^ sad Ai 
presence of death can scarcely toko from the yooiig M^b 
their sense of earthly happiness. * They are predpitaftad ia III 
ocean : an invisible power preserves and lands them ea adi» 
ert island, where they find a hermit, whom religion 
fortones have led to that retreat 


Anundi, the rapouaod of Ilnon, attor manj difficDlU«i| 
bring! a mh into the world ; and nothing un bo mora delight* 
(d1 tiiia thi* pictoro of maternal tcndornoM in the desert: the 
new being who comes to animate their solitude, the nneortoin 
look, the wandering glance of infancy, which the passionate 
tenderness of the mother endcavorg to fix on herself, all is full 
tt aentimont and of trutli. The trials to which tho married 
pur are anbjectcd by Oboron and Titania, are eontinnod ; but 
in the coaclorion their conatancy is Tcwardcd, Althonj^ thia 
poem ia diffuse, it is impoesiblo not to consider it aa a charming 
work, and if it wero well traaalatod into French verse, it would 
certainly be thought so. 

Thcro have been poets, both before and since Wieland, 
who have Attempted to write in the French and Italian man- 
ner; bnt what they have done scarcely deserves to be men- 
tioned : and if German literaturo had not aaiamcd a peculiar 
character, it certainly would not form nn epoch in the history 
of the fine arts. Tliot of poetry must in Germany bo fixed at 
tlie time when the Meatiai of KJopstoek made its appeorance. 

The hero of that poem, according to our mortal language, 
in^lrcs admiration and pity in the same degree, withont either ' 
of these sentiments being weakened by the other. A gener- 
ous poet* said, in speaking of Louis XVI, 

*■ Jsniidi tAot d« respect n' admit tiuit de piUd." 

This verae, so affecting and so delicate, might serve to ex- 
press the tender emotions wo experience in reading Klopetock's 
Jfeuiia. The subject of it is, without doubt, vastly superior to 
alt the inventions ot genius ; a great deal, however, is reqaisite 
to display with so much sensibility the human nature in the 
divine, and with so much force tho divine nature in the mortal. 
Much talent is also required to excite interest and anxiety in 
the recital of an event, previously determined by an all-power- 
(bl WilL Elopstock has, with great art, at once nnited all that 
terror and that hope which the {atality of the ancients and the 
providence of Christians can jointly inapire. 

oxBKAV romi. 

I haTo already tpokon of tho chaneter of Abbadonap tho 
lopcntant domon, who aooka to do good to man : a doYoiiriiig 
romono attaches itself to his immortal natim ; hia rq^rei hM 
hoaTon itself for its object— that hoaTen which ha haa ImowBi 
those celestial spheres which woro his habitation* What a rita- 
ation is this return towards rirtne, when tho deoree ia inrovoca* 
bio I to complete the torments of Holl| nothing is wanting bnl 
to make it Uio abode of a sool again awakened to aensibilityl 
Our religion is not faroiliarixed to ns in poetry; andi among 
modem poets, Elopstock has known best how to pononify tho 
spirituality of Christianity, by utoations and pktoiea the moik 
analogous to its nature. 

There is but one episode which has lore lor its object in all 
the work ; and this love sabsista between two persona who 
have been raised from the dead — Cidli and S^oida: Jesna 
Christ has restored them both to life, and they love each other 
with on affection pure and celestial as their new existence; 
they no longer consider themselves as subject to death; they 
hope to pass together from earth to heaven, and that neither 
ofHbem will experience the anguish of approaching aeparatioa. 
What an affecting conception does such a love present to ns 
in a religious poeml — ^a love which could alone haimoniM 
with the general tenor of the work. It must neveitheleBB he 
owned, that from a subject so continually and so hi(^y exalted 
there results a little monotony; the soul is frtigaed bj too 
much contemplation, and the author seems sometimea tore-. 
quire readers already risen from the grave, like CSidH aad 

This defect might, it seems to me, have been avoided, with* 
out introducing any thing profane in the Muiioi: it would 
perhaps have been better to have taken the whole Ii& of Jesus 
Christ for the subject of the poem, than to begin at the mo- 
ment when his enemies demand his death. The oolora of the 
East might- with more art have been employed to paint Syriai 
and to characterize, in ^ strong manner, the state of the homaa 
race nnder the empire of Rome. There ia too much disboane^ 
and too many long conversations in the Mtmoi; doqwnee 

SIO ifAn Aine dX STABl's OEBMAKT. 

itself u less strOdng to the imagination tlian a situation, a char* 
acter, a pictnre, which leaves us something to gness at The 
Logos, or the Divine Word, existed before the creation of the 
world ; bat with poets the creation ought to precede the Word* 

Elopstock has also been reproached with not having snffi- 
cientlj varied the portraits of his angels. It is trae, that in 
perfection it is difficult to point out variety, and that in gen- 
eral men are characterized by defects alone : some distinguish- 
ing traits, however, might have been given to this great pic* 
tnre ; but, above all, as it appears to me, ten cantos should not 
' Lave been added to that which terminates the principal action, 
which is the death of our Saviour. These ten cantos undoubt- 
edly contain much lyrical beauty; but when a work, of what- 
ever kmd, excites dramatic interest, it ought to conclude 
whenever that interest ceases. Reflections and sentiments, 
which we should read elsewhere with the greatest pleasure, 
are most frequently tiresome when a more lively emotion has 
preceded them. We consider books, nearly as we would con- 
aider men ; and we always exact from them what they have 
accustomed us to expect 

Throughout all Klopstock^s work we perceive a mind highly 
elevated and sensitive ; nevertheless, the impressions which it 
excites are too uniform, and funeral ideas are too numerous, 
life goes on, only because we forget death ; and it is for that 
reason, without doubt, that we shudder whenever the idea of 
death recurs to us. In the MeiBtatf as well as in Young's 
Night Thoughts, we are too often brought back to the tomb : 
the arts would be entirely at an end, if we were always ab- 
sorbed in that species of meditation; for we require a very 
energetic sentiment of existence, to enable us to look on the 
world with the animation of poetry. The Pagans, in their 
poems, as well as on the baa-reliefii of their sepdchres, always 
represented varied pictures, and thus made even of death an 
action of life; but the vague and uncertain thoughts which 
accompany the Christian in his last moments, are more co^* 
netted with the emotions ot the heart than wUb. liVi^ >i^f^^ 
cdcn ciihn louigiDMtioiu 



ElopAtock has composed religious and p«triotio ode% 
many other elegant productions on rtrious sdbjeeti.' In his 
religious odes, he knows how to invest unbounded ideas with 
risible imagery ; but sometimes this sort of poetry is lost in 
the immeasurable which it would embrace. 

It is difficult to quote any particular rerses in his religions 
odes which may bo repeated as detached sentences. The 
beauty of his poetry consists in the general impression which 
it produces. Should we ask the man who contemplates the 
sea — that immensity which is always in motion, yet always in- 
exhaustible, which seems to give an idea of all periods of time 
at once, of all its successions become simultaneous ; — should we 
ask him, while wave follows ware, to count the pleasures he 
experiences while ruminating on their progress! It is the 
same with religious meditations embellished by poetry j they 
are worthy of admiration if they inspire new leal to attain 
higher degrees of perfection, if we feel oureelres the better 6x 
having indulged in them : and this is the criterion by which 
we should form our judgment of this species of composition. 

Among the odes of Klopstock, those written on the Fkench 
Revolution scarcely deserve to be mentioned ; the present mo- 
ment has no inspiration for the poet ; ho must place himself at 
a distance from the ago in which he lives, in ordor either to 
judge or to describe it well : but the efforts made by Silopstock 
to revive patriotism among the Germans are highly honorable 
to him. From the poetry composed with this laudable inten- 
tion, I will endeavor to give his song of the Bards after the 
death of Hermann, called by the Romans Arminius : he was 
assassinated by the Princes of Germany, who were jealoik of 
his success and of his power. 

* ** No one,*' sajs the Oemuui oritio Oerrinns, ** had atuined to tlM 
tone of bardio inapiration, to the simple snbUmitj of Ilebrew pooliy, and 
to the ^^nnine spirit of classical antiqoitjr, in tha aamo dogroo as Klop- 
stock in his eailier Odes ; whero we seem to listen in turn to Hones, lo 
David, and, what is more oxtraordinary, to Ossian, before Uie woild ~ 
anj thing abont him. Bach gifts were not possessed by even Tiiiilnf 
Tfieland. They ftrtt Tek\nd\ed VnH^ndvt^V^TA ealy to 'irt^tfitiim, and 
Wittds in Qoelhs to oc\|fbMl\!iiodLUcMu»Bu^-^ 



** WuDOium. 

** Upon tbla ttone with ancient mots o'erlold 
Bott we, Bards, and be our song begun. 
Let none adranoo to gaio beneath the shade 
That shrouds in death Teutonia's noUsit son. 

** For there he lies in blood, whose life 
Was erst the Bomans' secret dread, 
When the/ in triumph to the Jocund M& 
His own Thusnelda* led. 

* Oast not a glance ! for'ye would wee| 
To see him lying in his gore. 
And not to tears the Telyn's string we sweep • 
We sing of those who die no more I 


"Bright are my locks of youthful hair. 
And first to-day I glided on the sword. 
Arm'd for the first time with the lyre and spear, 
Must I too sing the warrior-lord f 

** Ask not too much, sires, of one so young, 
For I must dry up with my locks of gol«i 
These burning tears, before the harp be strung 
To sing the first of Mana's* oflbpring bold. 

** Dabmohd. 

" I weep for frantic ire I 

Nor would my tears assuage I 
Flow, flow adown my cheek of fire, 
Ye tears of rage I 

s We hsTs adopted the Tersion of Mr. Wm. Kind, Odm qfXlopiloek^ p. 

* She was taken priaoner by Oermaniens In his first battle with Her* 
mann, and afterwards figured in hii triumph. 

* Mana, son of Tuiseo, mythologiosl ancestor of the Qsmnsiia 


^Thejr wo not dambi not mate thif flov I 
Hear, Hola,' bear tholr oano ofnlgldi 
Ko tndtor of tho land that bid btai iMf 
DU in tho floldi of light 


" 8eo 70 tho torront dash 

Down through tho rook-defllo? 
And tho torn flr-trooi hoadlong 
For Hormann'i Amoral pUo ? 

"Boon is ho dost, and laid 
In cUf-marl of tho tomb : 
And with tho dost tho hallow'd Uiidt^ 
On which ho sworo tho oooqiMNf^i 

'*Thoa spirit that hast loft his Conn, 
Upon thy flight to Bigmai*8tay I 
And hear thy pooplo's heart luMr 
It beats lior thoo to^7 1 


" Toll not Thosnelda, tell her not, 

Hero lies in blood her pride, her Joy 
A wife, a* hapless mother, tell her noi 
Here lies tho lather of her beantoooi bof I 

'* Fetters already has she borne 
Tho triumph of the foe to swoIL 
Thou hast a Boman heart, if, thus IbiteBt 
To her thou canst tho tidings tolL 

** What sire begat thee, hapless ono I 
Segestes,* with rerengeful thirst 
His sword did redden in his bleeding son I 
Him curse not I — ^Helahas alreadj enrsod I 

1 Hela rrigned otot the dresij region whither tho 
were taken who had not died in l^hL The latter 
Odin's hall. 

* Sigmar, Hennann'a fkther. 

• Segeates, Thusnelda's fkther, quarrsQed with his 
spirsd with those who slew hinL 

ifAT>Ai«B 2>x gTAXL'8 OXBMAHT. 


> t 

*' Kftme not Segestes, jt that sing ! 
His name to mute obllyion doom ; 
lliat, where he lies, her heaTf^wlng 
liaj darken o'er his tomb I *^ 

*The string that sounds the name 



Of Hermann bears disgrace, 
If but one note of soom and ihame 
Denounce the traitor base. 

* For Hermann, Hermann to the mountain mH, 
To the deep grove, the CsTorite of the bi%i% 
The bards in chorus sing. In chorus all 
Sing the bold chief, who did his oountiy wfv. 

" Sister of Canns, Winfeld's fight, 

I saw thee with thy bloody-waTing hair, 
With flame-glance of avenging might 
Wave through Walhalla, 'mid the mlnstrals th«ra I jl 

*The son of Drusus* fUn 

Would hide thy mouldciing monument,— 
Tho blanch'd bones of the fiUIcn slain 
Together in the dcath-valo blent 

** We RuiTcr'd not, but utrow'd in dust the mound. 
For these are voucliers of tho mighty rout } 
And they slmll hear, when flowers are on the ground, 
The war-dance and the victor's shout. 

" Sisters to Cannm would he yet have given, 
With Varus many a Roman would have laid ; 
Had not the rival chiefs for envy striven, 
CoDcina had sought Varus' shade I 

** In Hermann's soul of flro 

Slumber'd a thought of mighty will. 
At midnight, by Thor's altar, to the lyre 
He form'd his vow, impetuous to fnlAL 

** He thought thereon, when at the high repast 
The warriors danced amid tho lances gay { 
And round about the daring dance he cut 
The blood-ringf— to the boys a play. ..v 

. U 

* Otrmanions, the son of Drusus, upon snriving al the spot of YansPs I 

dslbit, fbund the boDss of his iiiUow-oltissns, and burled thsm. 


** The itonn-tcMi'd mAriiMr hSi tri« tmdtfm t 
• Pte in the North ttMTO Um a look/ id% 
Where flerj Tapor, like the clo«di» iwrolfM^ 
Then flAmee, and flings teth lock isr : 

•« 80 Hennann kindled at the light; 
Beeolred, like floods of fiery foimf 
Orer the ioe-erown'd Alps to loU hb 
Down on the plains of Bono I— 

** To die there I— or the Gapitol InvadOb 
And hard hy Jore'a high fims^ 
Of mad Tiheriw, and his lathei^i shadi^ 
Bight for his plnnder'd Ikthnlaad. 

" Therefore he daim'd the chieflafai'i nik 
Among the prinoes : and they slow Um 
He lies in blood, who dierlsh'd In hSi 
His ooontiy more than other man I 

"0 Hela, hast thoa hmd 

My tears, that haminf ftdl ? 
'Tis thine to giro a Jnst awwd : 
Hela, hoar their call I 

■ ( 



"In Walhalla SIgmar rcatii beneath the goldon ash f 
In his hand the riotor's brandh ; the laaess immd 
By Tnisoo beckon'd, and by Hana's hand tod co, 
There the youthful hero-sire rcoelTes his ymrthltt 


" But SIgmar there in silent woo 
nis Hermann greets again. 
Kot now Tiberius, and the shadss hdov. 
He ehallongos at Jots's high ^*^ '* 

I TM$ OoUtm A$k.^'^ •Whore/ aakod Oaaglor, 'Is the ehtof or 
iost of the godi V *It Is under the aah, YggdiasOli* rspBsd Btf, *«hM 
the godi aifemble eveiy day In eonncU. • • • • That aA Is Ika 1 
eat and beet of all trees. Ita bronolioe spiesd ovsr the whslo 
eren leaoh abore heaven.' ^^'•'•'PnH JBddM, 

S14 lunum ds stail's ovsmaxt. 

Than an Mvoral other poomi of Kloptitock in whtcli, u 
woU H in tbu, ha rocolli to tho Gomiana tho noblo doedi of 
their anecaton; but thoM rocoUoctiom hmta acarcoly any con- 
nection with tho proM&t iteto of thoir nation. We perceive 
In thcae pocnu a vogue lort of ontliusInBin, a dcure wliich 
cannot obtain iu objoct; and tho ilightcst national wng of a 
free people cauioa a truer omoljon. Scarcely any tracoa of tho 
ancient hiiilory of tho Oermani are now romainingt and that of 
iDodom time* ia too ranch divided, and too confaied, to bo 
capable of producing popnlnr aentimcnta; it U in their hoarta 
' aleno that tho Qonnani miut diaoover tho aonrce of tmlj pi^ 
triotio poetry. 

Klopitock frw]nontly treats tnljocta of a Icaa iotioui natnro 
in a very graccftil mannor; and thii grace ii derived from 
imagination and lonubility; for in hii poetry tharo ia not 
much of what we coll wit, which indeed would not luit the 
lyric character. In his Odi lo tht Niyhtinijalt he lias given 
novelty to a worn-out subject, by impnrting to the bird sontj- 
menta so tender yet so animated, l>otli on nature and on man, 
that it seems like a vringcd mediator, carrj'ing from ono to tho 
other tho tribute of its lovo ond praise An Odt on Rhtniih 
Wine is very original : tho banlts of tlie Rliino form a truly 
national imago for tho Ocrmana ; tboy have notliing in all their 
country superior to it. Vines grow in tho same places that 
bave given birth to to many warlike actions; and wine, a hnn- 
drcd yean old, the contemporary of more glorious days, seems 
atill to retain Uio generous warmth of former times. 

Klopatoclc has not only drawn from Christianity the greatest 
beauties of his roligioui works, but as it was his with that the 
literature of his country should bo entirely independent of that 
of the ancients, ho has endeavored to give to Oermau poetry a 
perfectly new mythology borrowed from the Scandinavians. 
Sometimes he uses it in rather too learned a manner, but at 
others he applied it very happily; and his inugination baa 
lelt the relations which subsist between the gods of the North 
and the a^ect <i natnre over which they preude. 
Hum ia « veiy fhanniitg ode of his, entitled Z%* ^r( tf 

OXRMAV poais. SIT 

Tial/f in other vrords, The Art af ShMng} inraiitod it is mU 
by tho Giant Tinlf. IIo describes a yonng and beantifU Jbnials 
clothed in furs, and placed on a ilodgo formod like a ear; ths 
yonng people who surround it, by a slight posh, drira it A^ 
wards witli tho rapidity of lightning. Thcjr ohooao ibr lis 
path the froxon torronti which during tfao wiator offora tibo 
safest road, Tl&o locks of tlie young men aro atfowad Ofsr 
witli shining particles of frost; die girls who follow tho aladgi 
fiisten to their feet little wings of stoeli which in a momsnt 
carry them to a considerable distanco; the song of tho baids 
accompanies this northern dance ; tho gay procoBsUm passss 
under elms covered with flowers of snow ; Ao ioa oraoka vadsr 
their feet, a momontaxy terror disturbs tholr oi^jojiMBt; bvl 


> "This Joyoni exordno,** uiys Gootho, ** wo owod slso Is 
well romembir iprinfflng ont of bod ono olosr, Arosty momlafi 
ing to mjiolf (* S^h voi» dim Q^mKU^ ota>— 

Alremly with the fftow ofkMlth ohilti 

Doaconding twIA tbt ftroMn shora aloBC^ 
Tho erytlal I liavo whit«nM wliJi nqr ikit^ 

In muca m to Drafa'a loiif.* 

Mjr lingering and doubt(\il ronolntlon wm at onco doddod. I Sow fintlH 
with to tho Bpot vrhore so lato a beginner oould dlvorootlj praetUc hh ilraS 
attempts. And In truth thU exertion of strength well moritod Xlopatook'B 
commondstion. It brings ns In oontAct with tho iVoshnoss of ohUdhoodf 
cslls tho youth to tho Aill oT\joyniont of hit supploneis and sotlTlty, aiid Is 
fitted to avert a stagnating old ogo. Ilonco wo foUowod (his ipoit Immod- 
oratoljr. Wo were not Botl»fled with tlius spending upon tho ieo a f lorloM 
dajr of sunshine, but we continued our motion lato ialo ths night; Ibr 
while other modes of exertion weary tho body, this aoona oonsUa^j to 
lend it now strength. Tho f\ill moon emerging from tho olooda ovsr tha 
whito meadows flrozen into fields of ice, tho night air wUatUng to oar on* 
ward motion, tho aolomn thunder of tho ico falling In upon ths rsosdlag 
water, tho strange distinct oohoes of our own moTomonts, bron^t bs fa rr 
us Osslanio scenes in all their perfection. Now ono firioiid, and now MS* 
other, sounded out in half-singing declamation ono of Klopstook's Odsa; 
and when wo found outboItos together in tho dhn light, wo wws load te 
sinooro praiaoo of tho author of our Joya. 

*Forshoaldb«BetlnaiortslllTt^ •• 

Whose Mt flsn health sod joy taboMi^ 
Soeh M BO mstUsd sUed esa i^tiv ^ • •• 

Sash, 0*00, SB paots Mi la tiio dsaoof * 


Tab I— 10 



moan shoots of joj, and the riolence of the exercise piesen hij^ 
fhmt heat in the blood of which the cold air wooM othenriee 
^^priTe it| in shorty the contest with the climate reriTcs their 
aphits; and at the end of their coarse they reach a large iUn* 
aainated hall, where a good fire, with a feast and ball, offer to 
^hmr acceptance easy pleasures, instead of those which they 
gained from their straggle with the rigors of natare.* 

* "In Kkpttock, bom 1724, we tee Idealism onoe more Tietorionilj 
— sfilmg iteelf : FatherUmd aad Chriatianitj were the two toiiroet of hit 
fiMpiimtioii. Bat be wm too maeh of a poet not to bare a burge admixtnre 
mi Bealiam, and too mneb of a German not to bave a strong imitative ten- 
^moef. YtJj remarkable it is in tbo bistory of German enltnre, to notice 
]m>w, in the doll stagnant periods, Imitation of foreigners is the mling mo- 
fire, and bow also revolntions are made bjr the subetitntion of one Unit*- 
tioD for another. Dke premature repnblicans, thej ent oif the head of their 
king, to place another on the throne. The shont of fteedom ronses them 
to rsTolt ; no sooner are thejr free, than the crj is, * Whom shall we obejr f* 
Gerrinns has remarked that the dictum of the Klopstock school was * origi- 
nalitj/ bj which thejr opposed Wlnckelmann, who declared the onljr wajr 
to pn>dnce inimitable works was to imitate tbo ancients; and jot STen thia 
cry of orij^imdity was an imitation, borrowed from the English poet, Young. 
^Cnrionslj enough, even this notion of original genius is not original wiUi 
vs ; and the great English drama, which was so far from being a copj, was 
eopicd in eyery waj by our ** original*' poets I' > Not only in the instance* 
mentioned by Gervinus, but in the two great epochs of German literature 
which preceded, we notice a similar fact. The middle age culture is every- 
where for more receptive and imitative than original, and the famous 
knightly-poetry is drawn from ArabiOi through France, not fVom the Ger- 
man-Christian soil. Again, when with Opitx (1624) a new era begins, we 
see him drawing from French, Spanish, and Italian models the rules for 
bis Buck von der teuUehtn PoeUrey^ dedsring it impossible for Germane 
to surpass them. 

*^In Klopstock we see the three elements of Imitation, Christianity, and 
Nature, all working towards Idealism. The poetry of Homer, Pindar, and 
Ossian lured him almost as much as the psalms of David, and the bards 
of bis fatherland. Hia Odes are inspired by this triple love ; some of them 
are religions, some bardic, and some antique. His influence was instanta- 
neoua, immense, because it moved with the spirit of the time; if saoooed- 
ing years have left him somewhat atranded on the shore, a wreck of the 
past, and not a living influence, we must not forget the services he por- 
ibrmed in an age when be atood out aa a giant. The very entboaiasm be 
txdted, the b^b and priestly offlce which be gave the poet, as a real 
TaSsa, the strviees be rendered to the. rebeUious German ItDgnagti wUl 

< e«?lBSi^tT.4lll 


Tbe Ode on Departed Friends^ addnsaed to Eberli alw d»- 
serres to be mentioned. Elopstock if leas liappj wlm ht 
writes on the subject of love ; like Dont^ he addranod wmb 
to '^his future mistress,'' and his Muse was not inapind Ijao 

Mearo for him a gimtefal reoognition •▼an aMOg those weuied \f Hi . 
odei and epic 

" Klopstock wont btok to Katun, as waU sa to tho oai^ Skkgtn, Hi 
▼Indicated Boalism bjr hia free and joyona habita, hf gymnaatlc ennlBai^ 
bj skating, of which he was jMiBsionatelj fond, and Ibr wbMi ko wnis 
lawa with something of Solonio grsTitj ; bj hofsemaDahipy bj '*«*"'^ 
and bj admiration of prettj women. EiB Ideallam was no 
Like Hilton, he waa an accomplished cavalier, and, liko MUlon, 
atclj fond of musia RemcmMring Coleridg^s aareaam, I iHIl 
add that the resemblance to MUton rnnat not bo pnahod nmoh linthar; If 
he is a German Milton, he ia indeed Mry Gaxman. All sncli rfralMt hm 
nccessariljr an imperfect side, but if one must bo mado, I wonld eall Kkp- 
atock a Gorman Wordsworth rather than a Gorman Milton; mi ao maA 
in reference to the qnolitjr of hia poetiy, as to hia lift and hb rftritVrw ia 
national literature. The flnt throe cantoa of tho JAonoi, pnbilshad ia 
1748, a year before Goetho*s birth, produced a wondorftil ImprnsaloiL Tho 
rest of the poem waa delayed tiU 177S, much to tho regret of his adorinn, 
who were tempted to curse the generous patron whoso ptnffliMi imaWiii 
the poet to be thus idle. But in truth a change had eooM over him. Hi 
grow melancholy, waa troubled with desires for death, and on!/ osrtd ti 
Uvo that he might finish his religious poem ; and, aa Leasing tiMf hs bs- 
gan to correct his Terses more with a Tiew to orthodoxy than to art. 

" If in Klopstock we have the roprescntatlTO of Geman Idoallam, ia 
Wioland we haye the reprcsentatiTo of German Bftaliam. Thoy are oon- 
trasts in all essentials. Wicland is sensuous where Elopatoek ia aupoia aa- 
Buous, nUonMl where Klopstock is sentimental; phUooophj and hlatoiy 
rule his muse, aa religion and music ruled that of Klppatook ; and hs h 
eminently didoctio where Klopstock is eminently lyiiosL WIdaad had a 
marked preference for tho later classics, and tho French and Italian posiB, 
as Klopstock had for the northern and English. Yoltaira waa to Wlalnd 
what Young was to Klopstock. Even on English grcmnd tho aamo son* 
trast is obsenrable. Wioland takes up Shaileabury and Shakapoars ; Sop-. 

fttoek.— TonDflP. RiehAnliinn. AnA MiltAn. in/MrMt«w«1r waa •ftanrfl.WIm ami. 

atock,^Toung, Bichardson, and Milton. Klopstock waa * tonib|y in 
neat,* aa Kemble aaid of Kean; Wioland waa a gay, li^t, waadi 
nature, incapable of any profound eameatnoaa. If wo haro odlod oas Aa 
German Wordaworth, wo may call the other, in tho sams looss wisji ^ 
German Moore. It waa the fashion to call Wioland a Oraok, bssaMa ho 
wrote pleasant talea, of a Frenohifled Hellenio cast; bnt although ia J^^ 
tkm^ for example, a oertiun reflex of Grecian ooltura and Grooiaa Ui^ Is 
▼laible; yet, as in an old Palimpaeat yon may still tisos ths mggedi lairf> 
ftoeablo writing of aomo monldah homily, whioh has bsaa nsds ts Sids 
tho plsoo to s plosisnt legend, so nndor this suftos-poOsh ersaUaMthi 


fStt>-fctcbod o fobjcct; to sport with sontimont wo ahoald not 
hftTo sufforod from it, and when the attempt is mado by a so* 
fkms poFMn, a socrot constraint always prorcnts him from ap- 
pearing natural. Wc most reckon as belonging to tlio school 
of Klopstock, not as his disciples but as members of his poeti- 
cal fraternity, the great Ualler, who cannot bo mentioned with- 
out respect, Gessner, and scTcral others, who approached the 
English cluuractor with respect to truth of sentiment, and yet 
did not bear the truly characteristic stamp of German litora- 

Klopstock himself did not entirely succeed in presenting to 
Germany an epic poem at once sublime and popular, as a 
work of that sort ought to be. Voss^s translation of the Iliad 
and Odyssey mode lloroer as much known as a sketched copy 
can render a finished original; erery epithet is proservod, 
every word is in its proper place, and the impression made by 
the \vhole is forcible, altliough wo do not dud in the Gorman 
all the chnrms of Greek, which was the finest language of the 
Soutli. Tlie men of literature in Germany, who seize with 
aridity every now kind of writing, endeavored to compose 
poems with the Ilomeric color ; and the Odyssey, containing 
in itself many details of private life, appeared more easy to im- 
itate than the Iliad. 

The first essay of this kind was an idyl in three cantos by 
Yoss himself, entitled Luise: it is written in hexameters, 
which are generally acknowledged to be admirable ; but the 
pomp of hexameters seems seldom to accord with the extreme 
nalceU of the subject \yere it not for the pure and religious 
emotions which animate the poem, we should interest our- 
aelves but little in the very quiet marriage of the venerable pat" 
tar cf GrUnau^s daughter. Homer, always just in the applica- 
tion of his epithets, constantly says, in speaking of Minerva, 
<« the blue-eyed daughter of Jupiter ;" in the same manner Yoss 
incessantly repeats, ''the venerable pastor of Griinau** (<{er 

OenBanWkknd Is iinmSsUkAb]/ lflflbls.''-<0. H. Lswss^ OmMs Ufi 
ITMb, voL L pi M».>-jyL 

^ ft 


ihrwUrdtf^e P/amr van Orimau). But tho liiiiplicity «f Ho* 
mor prodoccB so great an effect, merely bocansa it forma a ao* 
Uo eontrost with the dignified grandenr of hh hero and of Urn 
fiito which pursues him ; but when the iobjoot trealad of k 
merely a country pnstor, and a notaUo womaiii his wtfb^ lAa 
marry their daughter to the man she loreii its aimpUoity has 
less merit In Germany, descriptions aro greatly adhnirod liks 
those in Voss's Zuisey on tl&o manner of making ooAn^ cf 
lighting a pipe, eto^ and those details aro giTon with mask 
skill and exactness ; it is a well-paintod Flemish piotma; but 
it appears to mo that the common customs of lifo eannot will 
be introduced into our poems, as they wero in thoao of tha aa* 
cients ; for those customs among us aro not poetioali and our 
civilization has something citixen like in it Tlio aneionls 
lived almost always in the open air, preserving their lelalkiBa 
with nature, and their manner of existence was rural, but Bcver 

The Germans consider the subject of a poem as of little cob- 
scquoncc, and believe that every thing consists in the manner 
of treating it Now this manner can scarcely ovor be trana- 
fused into a foreign language, and yet the general ropatation 
of Europe is not to be despised ; besides, the remembrance of 
the most interesting details is soon effaced, when it is not eon* 
nected witli some fiction which the imagination can lay hold 
of. That affecting purity which constitntoa the principal chann 
of Voss's poem is most conspicuous, as it appears to me^in 
the nuptial benediction of the pastor, at the maxriago of Us 
daughter ; addressing himself to her with a flattering roies^ 
he says :^ 

** My daughter, may the blessing of God be with thee : amia* 
ble and virtuous child, may the blessing of God accompany 
thee, both on earth and in heaven. I have been youngs and 
now am old ; and in this uncertain life the Almighty has soal 
me much joy and much sorrow. May his holy name ba 
blessed for both I I shall soon, without regret^ lay my aged 

> We srt oUigsdtooootent oansIviBwithsBiniplsBl«ilv«slflnr«J& , 


head in the tomb of my fothon, for mj daughter is happy ; she 
k 10 because she knows that oor sools are equally the care of 
oar Heavenly Father in sorrow as in joy. What can be more 
affecting than the sight of this young and beautiiul bride I In 
the simplicity of her heart, she leans on the arm of the firichd 
who is to conduct her through the path of life ; it is with him 
that in a holy union she will partake of happiness and of mis* 
fortune; it is she who, if it be the will of God, will wipe the 
last cold sweat from the forehead of her dying husband. My 
aoul was also filled with presentiments when, on my wedding 
day, I brought my timid companion to this place ; happy, but 
aerious, I showed her at a distance the extent of our fields, the 
tower of the church, and the pastor's house, in which we have 
experienced so much good and so much eviL My only child 1 
for thou alone remaincst, the others whom God had given to 
me, sleep below under the church-yard turf; my only child, 
thou goest, following the path which led me hither. The 
chamber of my daughter will be deserted, her place at our 
table will be no longer occupied ; in vain shall I listen to hear 
her footsteps, the sound of her voice. Yes, when thy husband 
takes thee far from me, sobs will escape me, and my eyes, bathed 
in tears, will long follow thee ; for I am a man and a father, 
and I love with tenderness Hiis daughter who also loves me sin- 
cerely. But soon restraining my tears, I shall lift to heaven my 
aupplicating hands, and prostrate myself before the divine will, 
which has commanded the wife to leave her father and mother 
and follow her husband. Depart then in peace, my child ; for- 
sake thy family and thy father's house; follow the young man who 
henceforth must supply to thee the place of those who gave 
thee birth ; be in thy house like a fruitful vine, surround thy 
table with noble branches. A religious marriage is the purest 
of all earthly felicity; but if the Lord found not the edifice, 
how vain are the labors of man T 

This is true simplicity, that of the soul ; that which is equal- 
ly suitable to the monarch and to his people, to the poor and 
to the rich, in short, to all the creatures of God. We are soon 
tired of deseriptive poetij when it ia applied to o\^ec\a ii\£l^ 

hftTo notliing great in tfaomselTes; bat aeatiiiMiita daieaodto 
Qi from heaven, and howerer hunUe be the abode wUehii 
penetrated with their raysi those rays loae noCbiiy of Urn 
original bcanty. 

From the extensive admiration whiea Goethe has motpani 
in Germany, his Hermann and Jhratkia ham obCuned Ai 
name of an epic poem ; and one of the nxwt inteDigeiit iMi 
of that or any other conntry, M. de Humboldt^ the bfodicrcf 
the celebrated traveller, has composed a wodc on this aulgee^ 
which contains several very philosophical and strildiig ebM^ 
vations. Hermann and Dorothea k translated b^ iflto 
French and English, but we cannot in a translation have aaj 
idea of the charming effect produced by the originaL Vnm 
the first verse to the last, it excites a tender emotion, and ihiK% 
is also, in its minutest details, a natural dignity which wooll 
not be unsuitable to the heroes of Homer. Neverthelesi^ it 
must be acknowledged, that the personages and events are cf 
too little importance ; the subject is suflScient to keep np the 
interest when we read it in tiie original, but in a tnnslatioa 
that interest is destroyed. With respect to epie poens^ it 
appears to me allowable to establish a certain litexaiy aristoo- 
racy : dignity, both of personages and of the historical leed- 
lections connected with them, can alone raise the imaginatiQn 
to a height equal to the composition of that species of poetry* 

An ancient poem of the thirteenth centuiyi tk0 IfiAdvtnfm 
lA/ed} of which I have already spoken, seems in its time to 
have possessed all the characters of the true epe. The grest 
actions of the hero of northern Germany, Siegfi^ed, assassinated 
by a king of Burgundy, and the vengeance inflicted on tfast 

> " To the Germans, this NisMun^u^Sonff U nstanllj Ml eljisi of as 
oommon love ; neither if they somethnet overrslne H, sad vtgiM Hitifss- 
rian wonder is more oommon than jut oriticlsoi, ihoiild the fhall bt lot 
heavily visited. After long ages of oonoealment, they havo flMund Uln ths 
remote wUdemess, still Btan<Sng like the trunk of some almosl mtsdUa* 
yian oak— nay, with boughs on it still green, after all the wind and werthtf 
of twelve hundred years. To many a paferiotSo fttUnf, wklsli ttafm 
fondly In solitary plaoea of the Past, It may wall be a laUjiaf^VilBl ssi 
•Lovtn* JVyiMfV-TWi.*''— 'tf rl^$ Asofe^ p. 8I8.>-JUL 


king in tbo camp of Attila by tho followors of Siegfried, wliioh 
put an ond to tlio first kingdom of Bui^undy, are tho subject 
€f the work. An epie poem is scarcely ever the work of one 
nan ; ages, if wo may bo allowed tlie expression, must labor 
to perfect it ; patriotism, religion, in short, tho wholo exist- 
ence of a naUon, cannot be brought into action but by some 
of those singularly groat events, wliich aro not created by tho 
poet, but which appear to him in greater magnitude seen 
through tho obscurity of time. The personages of an epie 
poem ought to represent the primitive character of their na- 
tion« We should discover in them that indestructible mould 
from which all history derives ita origin. 

Tho pride and boast of Germany wore ita ancient chivalry, 
its strength, ita loyalty, tho union of goodness and simplicity 
for which it was famed, and that northern roughness, which 
was, however, connected with tlie most exalted sensibility. 
Wo also admire tliat Christianity which is grafted on ' the 
Scandinavian mytliology ; that untamed honor, rendered pure 
and sacred by fnith; that rcApect for women, which became 
atill more striking from tho protection it afforded to the weak ; 
that undaunted contempt of death, that warlike paradise which 
has now given place to the most humane of all religions. Such 
aro the elementa of an epie poem in Germany. Genius should 
avail itself of this, and, with the art of Medea, reanimate with 
BOW blood ancient roooUections. 



Tbi detached pieces of poetry among the Germans are, it 
appears to me, still more remarkable than their poems, and it 
is particularly on that species of writing that the stamp o 
origmality is impressed ; it is also true ^at tho authors who 
havo written moat in this manner, Goothoi Schiller^ Bdr^^ 


oto^ aro of tbo modorn Hchool, wUoh alono bMiB a Iralj &•• 
tionnl character. Goctlio has most imagiiwtloiii mad Sohillar 
siosticnBibiHty; but BOi^r is moro popular thoii oitbor. Bj 
successively examining some poetical pioeos of osoh of tliMO 
authors, wo shall the better bo able to torn on idoft of tho 
qualities which distinguish them. Tho produotioiia of Sehfltar 
bear some analogy to the French tasto, jot wo do not flad in 
his detached poems any thing that rosomblca tho fbgitffo 
pieces of Voltaire ; tliat elegance of couTonotioiit and ohnosi 
of manners, transfused into French poetry, belongs to Brmnoo 
alone ; and Voltaire, in point of grocefolnoss, was the fini of 
French writers. It would be interesting to compare SohiUei^i 
stanzas on tlio loss of youth, entitled Uio Itkalf with thosi of 
Voltaire, beginning, 

" Si Toiis ToulcB que J 'aims eneors, 
Ilondos moi Togo dos amours, ote." 

Wo see in tlio French poet tlie expression of pleasing regret, 
which has for its object tlie pleasures of lore and tho joys of 
life ; tlie German poet laments tlie loss of that enthusiasni and 
innocent purity of thought peculiar to early ago, and flatters 
himself that his decline of life will still bo ombdlishod by the 
charms of poetry and of reflection. Tlie stansas of Sdiillor 
do not possess that easy and brilliant clcamoss which is gen- 
erally so striking and attractive ; but we may draw from them 
consolations which intimately aiTect the soul. Schiller norer 
presents to us a serious or profound reflection without inres^ 
ing it with noble images ; he speaks to man as nature hortelf 
would speak to him, for nature is also contomplatiTO and poeti- 
cal. To paint the idea of time, she brings before us on erer* 
flowing stream ; and lest, through her eternal youth, wo shookt 
forget our own transient existence, slio adorns hoTMdf with 
flowers which quickly fade, and strips the troes in antomn ef 
those leaves which spring beheld in all their beauty. Pbetij 
should bo the terrestrial mirror of this divinity, and by oolong 
sounds, and rhythm, reflect all the beauties of the nniverse. 

The poom entitled Th$ Sonjf qf (Atf AU^ eoorfits of two 

226 iCADAicK DB btakl's QJOOUJSrt. 

distinct parts : tho altomato stanzas express the labor whicli is 
performed at a forge, and between each of theso there aro 
charming verses on Uie solemn circumstances and extraordi- 
narj events commonly annonnced bj the ringing of bells, such 
as birth, marriage, deatli, fire, insarrection, etc. We may trans- 
late into French the fine and affecting images which Schiller 
derives from those great epochs of human life; but it is im- 
possible properij to imitate the strophes in short verse, and 
composed of words whOso rough and quick sound almost con- 
vejs to our ears the repeated blows and rapid steps of tho 
workmen who direct the boiling metal. Can a prose transla- 
tion give any just idea of a poem of this sort f It is reading 
music instead of hearing it; and yet it is earier to conceive 
the effect of instruments which are known to us, than of tho 
concords and contrasts of a rhythm and a language we are igno- 
rant of. Sometimes tho regular shortness of the metre gives 
us an idea of the activity of the workmen, the limited but 
regular force which they exert in their principal operations ; 
and Bomctimeis immediately after this harsh and strong sound, 
we hear the aerial strains of enthusiasm. and melancholy. 

The originality of this poem is lost, if we separate it from 
tho effect of a versification skilfully chosen, where tho rhymes 
answer each other like intelligent echoes modified by thought ; 
and nevertheless, these picturesque effects of sound would bo 
bold and hazardous in French. The vulgarity in point of style 
continually threatens us : we have not, like almost every other 
nation, two languages, that of prose and that of verse ; and it 
is with words as with persons — wherever ranks are confounded 
familiarity is dangerous. 

Ca$$andra^ another piece of Schiller's, might more easily bo 
translated into French, although its poetical language is ex- 
tremely bold. At the moment when the festival to celebrate 
the marriage of Polyxena and Achilles is beginning, Cassandra 
is seized with a presentiment of the misfortunes which will 
result from it; she walks sad and melancholy in the gflrove of 
Apollo, and laments that knowledge of futurity which troubles 
all her e&joymenta. Wo sea in this ode what a misfortune it 


would bo to a human boing, could ho poMOM Uie prauMnM d 
a divinity. Ib not tho sorrow of tho prophotOM ozporieeeed 
by all persons of strong pnsuons and suporior minda f Sehilkr 
has giTon us a fino moral idoa undor a Tory poetical IbnB, 
namely, that true genius, that of sentiment, even if il eseqe 
suffering from its commerce with tho world, ia frequent^ ths 
Tictim of its own feelings. Cassandra no?er marrios^ Boithsl 
sho is either insensible or rejected ; but her penetimtiiig aool ii 
a moment passes tho boundaries of lifb and doath| and flads 
repose only in heaven. 

I should never end if I were to mention all the pooticsl 
pioces of Schiller which contain new thoughts and new beau- 
ties.* fie has composed a hymn on the depaxtim of ths 
Greeks after the siege of IVoy, which might be aappoted the 
production of a poet then living, so iaithfiilly haa he adhersd 
to tho complexion of those times. I shall examinOi under the 
subject of dramatic art, tho admirable sUll with which the 
Germans trannport themselves into ages, countries, and eharao* 
tors, different from their own, — a suporior fiumlty, without which 
tho pcrsonngos produced on the stage would resemble poppeti 
moved by the same wire, and made to speak in tho aamo raee^ 
namely, tliat of tho auUior. Schiller deserves partieokrly to 
bo admired as a dramatic poot : Goethe standa unriTalled in 
tho art of composing elegies, ballads, stanxas, ete. ; his detached 
pieces have a very different merit from those of Voltaire. lbs 
French poot has transfused into his verso the spirit of the most 
brilliant society ; tho Gorman, by a few slight tonohes, awahsM 
in tho soul profound and contemplative improssiona.* 

Goethe is to tho highest degree natund in thia speeios of 
composition ; and not only so when ho speisks from hie own 
impressions, but oven when he transports himself to new cH- 

i The iTrioal pleoei of Sdhiller \mw bssn v«fy wtll tnnslstsd \tf Mr 
Bnlwor Lytton. Thej maj be obUined, together with Bohrsi's LUb sf 
Sohillor, for s very inull eum, in the Tandhniti repiiBt-nA 

' Goethe*! Poemi end Bellsde heve been tnneleted hw IPn^mm AylSM 
end 2£r. Theodore Martin of Ediabvgh, sad fspiintsd la Hew T«li \f 
Deliaser A Procter.— A ■ • 

228 ifAnAinc DE STAEL's OKBHANT. 

matesi cnatomfl, and Bitoations, his poetry easily assimilates 
itself with foreign countries ; he seizes, with a talent perfectly 
unique, all that pleases in the national songs of each nation ; 
he becomes, when ho chooses it, a Greek, an Indian, or a Mor- 
lachian* We hare often mentioned that melancholy and medi- 
tation which characterizes the poets of the North : Goethe, like 
all other men of genius, unites in himself most astonishing 
contrasts ; we find in his works many traces of character pecu- 
liar to the inhabitants of the South ; they are more awakened 
to the pleasures of existence, and have at once a more lively 
and tranquil enjoyment of nature than those of the North ; their 
minds have not less depth, but their genius has more viracity ; 
wo find in it a certain sort of natvetif which once 
the remembrance of ancient simplicity with that of the middle 
ages : it is not the nalveti of innocence, but that of strength. 
We perceive in GoeUie's poetical composition;^ that he disdains 
the crowd of obstacles, criticisms, and observations, which may 
bo opposed to him. Ho follows his imagination wherever it 
leads him, and a certain predominant pride frees him from the 
scruples of self-love.' Goethe is in poetry an absolute master 

> ** In Goctho*! mind, Uio flnit o^poct tliot strikes qb is its calmness, then 
lU beautj ; s doopor in^pootion rovonis to us its Tsstness ftnd nnmcosiirod 
■trength. Tliis man rnlcn, and is not ruled. The stem and fleiy energies 
of a most possionato soul lie silent in the centre of its being ; a trembling 
■ensibility has been Inured to stand, without flinching or murmur, the 
■harpest trials. Nothing outward, nothing inward, shall agitato or control 
him. The brightCHt and most capricious fancy, tlie most piercing and in- 
qnisitiTO intellect, the wildest and deepest imagination ; the highest thrills 
of Joy, the bitterest pangs of sorrow : all these are his, ho is not tlieirn. 
While ho moves every heart from its steadfastness, his own Is Arm and 
■till: the words that search into the inmost recesses of our naturo, he pro- 
nounces with a tone of coldness ond equanimity : in the deepest pathos he 
wseps not, or his tears oro like water trickling from a rock of adamant. lie 
Is a king of himself ond of this world ; now docs bo rule It like a vulgar great 
man, like Napoleon or Charles the Twelfth, by the mere brute exertion of 
his will, grounded on no principle, or on alidse one : his ikeultiea and fbel- 
ings ore not fettered or prostrated under the hnon sway of Passion, but M 
tad guided in kindly union under the mild sway of Beason; as the fleres 
primeval elements of Chooe were stilled it the coming of Liglit, and bouiid 
together, onder its soft veeture, into a glorions and benefloent Oreatioau'*— 


cf natare, tnd moit admiraUe whan lie does not inidi Ui ' 
pkturoi; for all his sketches contab the gam of a Ihiaielii^ 
but his finished fictions do not always aqoaOy cooTaj tha Uis 
of a good sketch. 

In his elegies, composed at Boma, we moat not look ftr 
descriptions of Italy : Goetha scarody doaa whataror is as- 
pected from him, and when there is any thing pompona ia aa 
idea it displeases him ; he wishes to prodnea effect bj aaia- . 
trodden path hitherto unknown both to himaelf and to As 
reader. His elegies describe the eSeet of Italy <m hia wMs 
existence, that delirium of happiness resulting from the iafa" 
ence of a serene and beautiful sky. Ha relatea hia pluaiuw^ 
aren of the most common kind, in the manner of Pkopeitins; 
and from time to time some fine reooUaetiona of that ei^, 
which was once the mistress of the world, gife an impulsa to 
the imagination, the more lirely because it waa not pnpaiid 
for it. 

He relates, that ho once met in the CSampagna of Bona a 
young woman suckling her child and seated on the remains ef 
an ancient column ; he wished to question her on the saljeet 
of the ruins witli which her hut was surrounded ; but she wss 
ignorant of every thing concerning them, wholly doroted to 
the aflfeclions which filled her soul ; she loved, and to her ths 
present moment was the whole of existence. 

We read in a Greek author, that a young giil, skiUtd in ths 
art of making nosegays of flowers, enterod into a eontest with 
her lover, Pausios, who knew how to paint them. Goethe ktt 
composed a charming idyl on that subject. The author of tbsl 
idyl is also the author of Werther. Goethe haa run thioii|^ '^ 
all the shades and gradations of love, from the sentiment whbh 
confers grace and tenderness, to that despair which hanowa up 
the soul, but exalts genius. 

After having made himself a Greek in Pausias, Goethe eon* 
ducts us to Asia in a most charming ballad, called iM§ (hi 
and the BayaderiJ An Indian deity (Uahadodi) doihea bin* 

> J f w M wm it a PertogiMM wcrd signiiyiiig a daadaf 


^.pdf in a mortal form, in order to judge of the pleasares and 
pains of men from hia own experience. He travels throngh 
Asia, observes both the great and the lower dasses of people ; 
and as one evening, on leaving a town, he was walking on the 
banks of the Ganges, he is stopped by a Bayadere, who per- 
suades him to rest himself in her habitation. Ihere is so much 
poetiy, colors so truly oriental in his manner of painting the 
dances of this Bayadere, the perfumes and flowers with which 
she is surrounded, that we cannot, from our own manners, 
judge of a picture so perfectly foreign to them. Ihe Indian 
deity inspires this erring female with Iruo love, and touched 
^th that return towards virtue which sincere affection should 
always inspire, he resolves to purify the soul of the Bayadere 
by the trials of misfortune. 

TVhen she awakes, she finds her *.over dead by her side. 
The priests of Brahma carry off the lifeless body to consume it 
on the funeral pile. The Bayadere endeavors to throw her- 
self on it with him she loves, but is repulsed by the priests, be- 
cause, not being his wife, she has no right to die with him. 
After having felt all the anguish of love and of shame, she 
throws herself on the pile, in spite of the Brahmins. The 
god receives her in his arms ; he darts through the flames, and 
carries the object of his tenderness, now rendered worthy of 
bis choice, with him to heaven. 

Zclter, an original musician, has set this romance to an air, 
by turns voluptuous and solemn, which suits the words ex- 
tremely wclL When we hear it, we think ourselves in India, 
surrounded with all its wonders ; and let it not be said, that a 
ballad is too short a poem to produce such an effect The 
first notes of an air, the first verse of a poem, transports the 
imagination to any distant ago or country; but, if a few 
words are thus powerful, a few words can also destroy the en- 
chantment. Magicians formerly could perform or prevent 
prodigies by the help of a few magical* words. It is the same 
with the poet ; he may call up the past, or make the present 
appear again, according as the expresnons he makes use of 
am, or are not, conformablo to the time or oountiy which is 


the sabjcct of Lia renej accordhig as lie obMrvet or no^aeli 
local coloring, and thoso little cucamstaiioeB ao iogeiiiovlf 
inrentod, which, both in fiction and realitjTt ezeidae the niil 
in tho endeavor to diacoTer troth where it ia not apeflWrallj 
pointed oat to as. 

Another ballad of Goethe's prodncea a deli{^tf ol effiwi bj 
the most simple means ] it iB ths lUhermam, A poor na^ 
on a summer's ercning, scats himself on the bftnk of m liw, - 
and, as he throws in his line, contemplates the dear and Var 
pid tide, which gcntlj flows and bathes his naked feet. Om 
nymph of the stream invites him to plonge himadf into it; 
she describes to him the delightful freshness of the water dniiag 
the heat of summer, the pleasure which the son takea in cool- 
ing itself at night in the sea, the calmness of the moon whsa 
its rajs repose and sleep on the bosom of the stream. At 
length, tho fisherman, attracted, seduced, drawn on, idYaaMS 
near the nymph, and forever disappears. The atoiy on which 
this ballad is founded is trifling ; but what is deUg^tfial in il| 
is the art of making us feel the mysterious power which may 
proceed from the phenomena of nature. It ia aaid there aie 
persons who discover springs, hidden under the earth, bj Ihi 
nervous agitation which they cause in them : in Gennan po^ 
try, wo often think we discover this miraculooa aympefhy be- 
tween man and the elements. The Gexman poet comprehends 
nature not only as a poet, but as a brother ; and we mij^t al- 
most say, that the bonds of family union connect him wiA 
tho air, the water, flowers, trees, in short, with all tho primaij 
beauties of the creation. 

There is no one who has not felt the undefinable 
which we experience when looking on the waves of the 
whether from the charm of their freshness, or from the 
ency which a uniform and perpetual motion insensibly a^ 
quires over our transient and perishable existence. Thia bal- 
lad of Goethe's admirably expresses the increasing ploasora we 
derive from contemplating the pure waters of a flowing stream : 
the measure of the rhythm and harmony is made to imitate the 
motion of the waves, and produces an analogous effect on the 



232 ifinAine ds staxl'b Qjooujsrr. 

imaginatioiL Hie aool of nature discoTen itself to us in oyery 
place, and under a thousand di6forcnt forms. Hie fruitful 
countiy and the unpeopled desert, the sea as well as the stars, 
are all subjected to the same laws ; and man contains within 
himself sensations and occult powers, which correspond with the 
day, with the night, and with the storm ; it is this secret alli« 
ance of our being with the wonders of the universe, which gives 
to poetiy its true grandeur. The poet knows how to restore 
the union between the natural and the moral world : his imagi- 
nation forms a connecting tie between the one and the other.' 

There is much gayety in several of Goethe's pieces ; but we 
seldom find in them that sort of pleasantry to which we have 
been accustomed : he is sooner struck by the imagoiy of na- 
ture, than by ridiculous circumstances; with a singular in- 
stinct, he points out the originality of animals, always new, 
yet never varying. LUd Park and the Wedding tong in ihi 
Old Castle^ describe animals, not like men, in La Fontaine's 
manner, but, like fantastic creatures, the sports of Nature. 
Goethe also finds in the marvellous a source of pleasantry, Uie 
more gratifying, because we discover in it no serious aim. 

A song, entitled the Magidan^e Apprentice^ also deserves to 
be mentioned. Tlie apprentice of a magician having heard 
his master mutter some magical words, by the help of which 
he gets a broomstick to tend on him, recollects those words, 
and commands the broomstick to go and fetch him water from 
the river, to wash his house. The broomstick sots ofi* and re- 
turns, brings one bucket, then another, and then another, and 
so on without ceasing. The apprentice wants to stop it, but 
he has foi^ot the words necessary for that purpose: the 
broomstick, faithful to its office, still goes to the river, and 
still draws up water, which is tlirown on the house at the risk 
of inundating it. The apprentice, in his fury, takes an axe 
and cuts the broomstick in two ; the two parts of the stick 

I Mr. LewM* LUb of Ooethe eonlAlni no pastagt at all spprosolilDg tliU 
la truth and daUoacy of pottlo C|itielaaL OarvSma himaalf baa nothing 
battar.— A 


then become two senranti instead of one^ and go far water« 
vhich thoj tlnrow into the apftrtmeiit% as if in enmlation of 
each otlior, witli more zeal than orer. In Tain tho apprantici 
■coMi these stupid sticks ; they eontinne their baiineaa with- 
oat ceasing, and the house would hare been loati had not tho 
master arrived in time to assist his apprentice, at tho lamo tinM 
laughing heartily at his ridiculous presumption. An nwkwaid 
imitation of the groat secrets of art is Toiy woQ depielod in 
this little scene. 

We have not yet spoken of an inexhaTistiUe sonroa of poeti- 
cal efToct in Germany, which is terror; stories of appaiitioBi 
and sorcerers are equally well receiTcd by tho popnlaco and 
by men of more enlightened minds : it is a rdie of tho north- * 
em mythology — a disposition naturolly inspired by the long 
nights of a northern climate ; and besides, tiiough Christianity 
opposes all groundless fears, yet popular snperstitiona haTO 
always some sort of analogy to the prevailing religion. Almost 
every true opinion has its attendant error, which, like a shadow, 
places itself in the imagination at the side of the reality ; it is 
a luxuriance or excess of belief, which is conamonly attached 
both to religion and to history, and I know not why we ahonld 
disdain to avail ourselves of it Shakspcare has produced 
wonvcrful effects from tho introduction of spectres and magic; 
and poetry cannot be popular when it despises that which ai- 
erciscs a spontaneous empire over the imagination, Oonins 
and taste may preside over the arrangement of these tahs^ 
and in proportion to tho commonness of the subject, the moia 
skill is required in the manner of treating it: perhaps it ia in 
this union alone that the great force of a poem consists. It Is ^ 
probable that the great events recorded in the Iliad and Odya> 
sey were sung by nurses, before Ilomer rendered them tta 
cAt/t-cTonivm of tiie poetical art* 

> ** The poetiy of Oootbo we rodcoa to bo Poetrj, iomotUnoo In the imy 
higbott soDM of tbAt word ; jol U ii no reminlsoonoo, bat lOiMtliiaf Mtn- 
•11/ present and boibrs us; no IooUdit hook Into sa aatiquo V9hf4mL 
dividod b/ imptMftbld abjuoi fr iin the real worid st U lies sbealns sna 
within as; bul alooking lenad iponthsl real world itsiU^ new 


234 MADAinc DS staxl'b OSBMAinr. 

Of all Gk)nnan writen, Bdi^r has made the best nse of this 
▼cin of superstition which carries us so for into the recesses of 
the heart His romances are therefore well known through- 
out Germany. Lenore^ which is most generally admired, is 
not, I beliere, translated into French, or, at least, it wonld be 
rery difficult to relate it circumstantially either in our prose or 
Terse. A young girl is alarmed at not hearing from her lover 

holier to oar ejet, and onoe moro become a solemn temple, where the 
spirit of Beantj etill dwells, end, nnder new emblema, to be worshipped 
•s of old. With Goethe, the mjthologies of bjgone dsjs pess only for 
whsfc thex are; we hsTe no witchenft or magic, in the common aooepta- 
tion, and spirits no longer bring with them airs from heaven or blssts firom 
heU; for Pandemoniam and the steadfiMt Empyrean have fiuled away, 
^oe the opinions which they symbolised no longer sre. Neither does he 
bring his heroes firom remote Orientol dimates, or periods of Chivalry, or 
any section either of Atlantis or the Age of Gold, feeling that the reflex of 
these things is cold and faint, and only hongs like a clond-pictoro in the 
diBtonce, beautiful but delusive, and which even the simplest know to be 
delusion. The end of Poetry is higher ; she must dwell in Beolity, and 
becomo manifest to men in the forms among which they live and move. 
And this is what wo prize in Goethe, and moro or less in Schiller and the 
re9t, all of whom, each in his own way, are writers of a similar aim. The 
coldest skeptic, the most callous worldlinfi:, sees not the actual aspects of 
life moro sharply than they are hero delineated : the nineteenth century 
stands before us in all its contradiction and perplexity, — barren, mean, and 
baneful, as wo have all known it ; yet hero no longer mean or barren, but 
enamelled into beauty in the poet*s spirit ; for its secret significance is laid 
open, and thus, as it were, the life-giving fire that slumbers in it is called 
forth, and flowers and foliage, as of old, are springing on its bleakest wil- 
dernesses and overmantling its sternest clifis. For these men have not 
only the dear eye, but the loving heart They have penetrated into the 
mystery of Katuro ; after long trial, they havo been initiated ; and, to un- 
wearied endeavor. Art has at lost yielded her secret ; and thus can the 
Spirit of our Age, embodied in fair imaginations, look forth on ns, earnest 
and full of meaning, from their works. As tho first and indispensable 
eondition of good poets, they are wise and good men : mnch they have 
aeen and suffered, and they have conquered all this and made it all their 
own ; they have known life in its heights and depths, and mastered it in 
both, and con teach others what it is, and how to lead it rightly. Their 
minds are as a mirror to us, where the perplexed Image of our own being 
is reflected back in soft and dear interpretation. Here mirth and gravity 
are blended together; wit rests on deep, devout wisdom, as tho greensward 
with its flowers must rest on the rock, whose foundations reooh downward 
to the centre. In a word, they are believers ; but their faith is no sallow 
plant of d a rk ness; it ia grsen and floweiy, for it grows in the ionlight 


who 18 gono to the army ; peace is madei and the aoUien 
return to their habitations. Mothers again meet thdr soii% 
sisters their brothers, and hosbands their wiroa; the wariiks 
trumpet accompanies the songs of peace, and joj leigDs ii 
every heart Lenore in vain surveys die ranks of the ■ddieis; 
she sees not her lover, and no one can tell her what haa b^ 
come of him. She is in despair ; her mother attempta to calm 
her; but the youthful heart of Lenore rovolta against ths' 
stroke of aiBiction, and in its frenxy she aecnsea ProTidflneSi 
From the moment in which the blasphemy is uttered, we aie 
sensible that the story is to have something fatal in it| and this 
idea keeps the mind in constant agitation. 

At midnight, a knight stops at the door of Lenoro*a hooN; 
she hears the neighing of the horse and the clinking of the 
spurs ; the knight knocks, she goes down and behoMa her lover. 
Ho tells her to follow him instantly, having not a momenl to 
lose, he says« before he returns to the army. She pwsaea ibr- 
ward; he places her behind him on his horse, and seta off 
with the quickness of lightning. During the night he galk^ 
through barren and desert countries ; his youthfiil companion 
is filled with terror, and continually mIcs him why he goea so 
fast; the knight still presses on his horse by his hoene and 
hollow cries, and in a low voice says, ''The dead ride qniek^ 
the dead ride quickT Lenore answers, ** Ahl leave thedead 

And thU fklth U tho doctilDO they ha,vt to tMoh us,— Om shm 

under trwj noUe and gracoAil form, it ii thoir ondeavor to sil tetkl 


'As •]! iifttertli thousand ebsagss 

BoC ODS ebsncelMS God proeUlm, 
So In Art*8 wldo klofdoms rsngts 

Ono sols meaning, sUIl Uis sams; 
This Is Trath, stomal Season, 

Wbleb from Beaat/ tskss Its drsn^ 
And, ssrtns Uunoaf h Urns and asaaoa, 

Stands tat sjt in lovsllnsMb* 

Snoh indeed ie the end of Poetr/ at all timea ; jet in no reoent Utenlni 
known tone, except the Geiman, haa it been ao Ikr attained— naj, peAi^ 
ao mneh aa eonaoioiialx and aleadftitly attempted.**— <CMmV# •AaaHL a^ 


in peace r but whenever she* addresses to him any anxious 
question, he repeats the same appalling words. 

In approaching the church, where he says he is carrying her 
to eomplcte their union, the frosts of winter seem to change 
nature herself into a frightful omen : priests carry a coffin in 
great pomp, and their black robes train slowly on the snow, 
the winding-sheet of the earth ; Lenore's terror increases, and 
her lover cheers her with a mixture of irony and carelessness 
which makes one shudder. All that he says is pronounced 
with a monotonous precipitation, as if already, in his language, 
the accents of life were no longer heard ; he promises to bring 
her to that narrow and silent abode where their union was to 
be accomplished. We see, at a distance, the church-yard by 
the side of the church : the knight knocks, and the door opens ; 
lie pushes forward with his horse, making him pass between 
the tombstones; he then, by degrees, loses the appearance of 
a living being, is changed to a skeleton, and the earth opens 
to swallow up both him and his mistress. 

I certainly do not flatter myself tliat I have been able, in 
this abridged recital, to give a just idea of the astonishing 
merit of this romance ;^ all the imagery, all the sounds con- 
nected with the situation of the soul, are wonderfully expressed 
by the poetry ; the syllables, the rhymes, all the art of lan- 
guage is employed to excite terror. Tlie rapidity of the horse's 
pace seems more solemn and more appalling than even the slow- 
ness of a funeral procession. The energy with which the knight 
quickens his course, that petulance of death, causes an inexpress- 
ible emotion ; and we feel ourselves carried off by the phantom, as 
well as the poor girl whom ho drags with him into the abyss. 

There are four* English translations of this tale of Lenore, 
but the best beyond comparison is that of Wm. Spencer,' who 
of all English poets is best acquainted with the true spirit of 

> nil romsQcei are in verM.— JSI. 

• There are now manj more. We know of nine, sadthere sre donVUess 
wukj tlial we sre ignonat ot— JBI. 

> Hr. Bpenoei's volame it more fSunoas tat the Ulostntions of LMd;| 
Plant Beanelere, than Ibr aqr tUif of his own.— AL 


foreign langnagcs. Hie analogj between the RngBih and 
Gonnan, allows a complete transfoMon of the original!^ of 
fttylc and ronification of BUrger ; and we not only flbd in tiio 
tranalation, the same ideas as in tho originalybat alio tho same 
sensations ; and nothing is more necessary than tlua to oonfiay 
tho true knowledge of a literaiy production. It would be dtf* 
ficult to obtain tho same result in Fjrench| where nothing itra^go 
or odd seems nataral. 

Bdiger has written another romance, leas cdebratadf bat also 
extremely original, entitled the Wild JETunUmatL FoUowod bj 
his servants and a large pack of hounds, he set oat for the 
chase on a Sunday, just as the Tillage bell annoanoea dirine 
service A knight in white armor presents himself and eon- 
jurcs him not to profano the Lord's day ; another kni(^t| 
arrayed in block armor, mokes him ashamed of aalgeokiBg 
himself to prejudices, which aro suitable only to old men and 
children: the huntsman yields to those evil suggestions; he 
sets off, ond rcochcs the field of a poor widow ; she throws 
horsolf ot his foot, imploring him not to destroy her harvest by 
trompling down her com witli his attendants; tho knight fai 
white armor entrcots Uio huntsmon to listen to the vwoe of 
pity ; tho block knight laughs at o sentiment so pnorilo ; the 
huntsmon mistokcs ferocity for energy, and his horses trampio 
on tho hope of tho poor and the orphan. At length the sta^ 
pursued, scoks refuge in tlio hut of an old hermit; the hantt- 
mon wishes to sot it on fire in order to drive oat his prey ; tho 
hermit embraces his knccA, and exKleavors to soften the fero- 
cious being who thus threatens his humble abode: for tho 
lost time, tho good genius, under the form of the white knighti 
again spooks to him ; the evil genius, under that of the blaek 
knight triumphs; the huntsman kills Uie hermit, and ia at 
once changed into a phantom, pursued by his own dogs, who 
seek to devour him. This story is derived from a popolar 
superstition : it is said, that at midnight, in certain seasooa of 
the year, a huntsman is seen in the doads, just over the tn» 
est where this event is supposed to have passed, and thai bo 
in pnnoed by a {uxioui ^i^axk et^Lo^oni^ >S^ ^^\(t»ik» 


Whmt 18 truly fine in this poem of Biiiger'si is his description 
of the ardent will of the huntsman ; it was at first innocent, as 
an all the fiicolties of the soul ; but it becomes more and more 
deprared, as often as he resists the roice of conscience and 
yidds to his passions. His headstrong purpose was at first 
only the intoxication of power ; it soon becomes that of guilt, 
mnd the earth can no longer sustain hinu The good and eril 
inclinations of men are well characterised by the white and 
Uack knights; the words, always the same, which are pro- 
nounced by the white knight to stop the career of the hunts- 
man, are also rery ingeniously combined* The ancients, and 
the poets of the middle ages, were well acquainted with the 
land of terror caused in certain circumstances by the repe- 
tition of the same words ; it seems to awaken the sentiment 
of inflexible necessity. Apparitions, oracles — all supernatural 
powers, must be monotonous ; what is immutable is uniform ; 
and in certain fictions it is airreat art to imitate by words that 
solemn fixedness which imagination assigns to the empire of 
darkness and of death. 

We also remark in Bdrgcr a certain familiarity of expres- 
sion, which docs not lessen the dignity of the poetry, but, on 
the contrary, singularly increases its effect. When we succeed 
in exciting both terror and admiration without weakening 
either, e£u:h of those sentiments is necessarily strengthened by 
the union : it is mixing, in the art of painting, what we see 
continually with what we never see ; and from what we know, 
we are led to bclicTe what astonishes us. 

Goethe has also made trial of his talents in those subjects 
which are at the same time terrifying both to chiFdren and 
men ; but he has treated them with a depth of thought that 
leaves us also a wide field for reflection. I will endeavor to 
give an account of one of his poems on apparitions wjiich is 
the most admired in Germany; it u etlled the Bride (f Corinth. 
I certainly do not mean in any respect to defend this fiction, 
either as considered in itself or in its tendency ; but it seems 
to me scarcely possible not to be struck with the warmth of 
imaginatiQa which it indicatek 


Two friends, ono of Athens and the other of Corinth, liad 
vesolred to unite their son and daughter to each other. The 
young man sets out for Corinth to see her who had been pram* 
ised to him, and whom he had never yet beheld : it was at the 
time when Christianity was first established. The fSunily of 
the Athenian^ adhered to the old religion, but that of the Co- 
rinthian had adopted the new faith ; and the mother, during 
a lingering illness, had devoted her daughter to the altar. The 
youngest sister is destined to fill the jdace of the eldest^ who 
is thus consecrated to religion. 

Hie young man arrives late at the honse; all the family had 
retired to rest; the servants bring some supper to hia apart* 
ment, and leave him alone ; but he is soon afterwards joined 
by a very singular guest : he sees, advancing to the middle- of 
the room, a young giri clothed in a veil and a white robe^ her 
forehead bound with a black and gold ribbon ; and when she 
perceives the young man she draws back witti tfanidityi aiid» 
lifting her white hands to heaven, cries out : ' 

<* Is a stangor here, and nothing told mef 
Am I then forgotten even in name f 
Ah I 'tis thus within mj cell thej hold me, 
And I now am cover'd o*er with shame 1" 

She attempts to retire, but the young man holds her baek; 
he learns that she is the person who was destined to be hie 
wife. Their fathers had sworn to unite them, and therefbio 
every other vow appeared to him without effect 

" • llaiden— darUng ) SUy, stay I' and, leaping 
From the coucl , before her stands the boy : 
' Cer es Boochns, here their gifts are heaping, 
And thou bringest Amor's gentle Joy 1 
Why with terror pale f 
Sweet one, let us hail 
These bright gods^their festive gifts employ.' " 

The young man conjurea his youthful companion to yield 
herself to his wishes. 

' ireiMsthstnadstionofPwfetiQ(tAytwnsndTheokgf¥sitin,(-»JHL. 


** Oh, BO— no I Young Btranger, oome not nlf k mo | 
Joj it not for mo, nor fefUye choor. 
Ahl ■ooh blin nmj ne'or bo taited bgr biO| 
Slnoe mj motbor, in ikniastio feoTi 
Dj long ■icknoM bow'd, 
To Heaven's lerTieo Tow'd 
Ha, and all the hopes that warm'd mo hero. 

''Thoy hnre left our hearth, and left it loneljr-* 
The old gods, that bright and Joound train. 
Ono, unseen, in heoren, is worshipp'd onl/t 
And upon the croes a Sariour slain ; 
fiacrifloe is hero, 
Not of lamb nor steer, 
But of human woe and human pain. 

*' But, alas I these limbs of mine would ohill thoo : 
LoTol thej mantle not with passion's glow { 
Thou wouldst be afraid, 
DId«t thou find the maid 
Thou hast chosen, cold as ice or snow." 
At midniglit, which is CAlIcd the hour of spectrcsi tho young 
girl Bccins more unconstrained ; sho eagerly drinks wino of the 
color of blood, llko tliat which is token by tho ghosts in tho 
Odyssey to renew their lost memory ; but sho obstinately ro- 
Aiscs to taste a bit of bread : sho gives a chain of gold to him 
whom sho was to have married, and asks in return a lock of 
his hair : the young man, channed with tho beauty of his com- 
panion, presses her with transport in his arms, but ho feels no 
heart beat responsive against his bosom ; her limbs are froxen. 

' Bound her waist h\n eager arms he bonded, 
With the strength that youth and love inspire ; 

' Wert thou even from the grave ascended, 
I oould warm thee well with mj desire !' " 

And then begins a scene as extraordinary as the frenzied 
imagination can possibly conceifOi — a mixture of love and 
terrori a formidable union of life and death. There ia^ «a it 
wen^ M AaercMl rolojltaoiianesa Uk ti:&i ^^Vqm ^^«(% Vs^ 



fonns An Allianco with tho grave, whore beauty itMlf 
only a terrifying apparitionJ 

At length tho mother arrivc8| and eonnneed that one of her' 
•laret has boon introdacod to the strangeri the girea waj la 
her jut indignation ; but immodiatoly the young ^ ineveaaoa 
in aiiOi till like a shadow she roaohoa the raultod eellinj^' iad 
then reproaches her mother with having eansed her deadi biy 
obliging her to take the veil : 

''Hothort mother I wheroforo thus deprive me 
Of iuoh Joy as I tbie night have known f 
Wherefore from thoso vraxm embmcet drire mef 
Wm I wakon'd up to meet thy frown ? 
Did it not euflice 
That, in virgin gniee, 
To an earlj grare you brought me down! 

** Fearful ie the weird that forced me hither, 
From tho dark-hoap'd chamber where I lay ; 
roworloBs are your drowny anthemi, neither 
Can your pricsti prevail, howe'er they pray* 
Salt nor lymph can cool, 
Whore the pulHO li full ; 
Love muet Btlll bum on, though wrapp*d In day. 

" To this youth my early troth war plighted, 
While yet Vonuii ruled within the land { 
Mother I and timt vow ye fatiioly flighted,' 
At your now and gloomy faith's oommand. 
But no god will hear, 
If a mother iwcar 
Pure from love to keep her daughter's hand* j 

** Nightly from my narrow cimmber driven, 
Gome I to fiilfll my destined part, 
Him to Beck to whom my troth was given, 
And to draw the life-blood from hU heart 

^ **An Awfal and undoflnod horror," Mye Mn. Austin, **brssthea 
throughout this poem. In tho slow and mossurod rhythm of the veiiS| and 
the pathetie simpUoity of tho diction, there Is a solemnity end sthninf ipell 
whidi ehsins the feelings like a deep mysterious strain of muslei'|*'JU» . 

* ** And her form upright. 
As with ghostly might, 
Long snd slow^ rises from Um bed.**— JUL 

• » 

94S lUDAXB Dx staxl's omcAHT. 

He hath lenred my will ; 
More I jet mutt kill, 
For another pre/ 1 now depart. 

**ndr young man! thy thread of life if hrokaiii 
Human ikill can bring no aid to thee. 
There thou hait mj chain— a ghastly to k wi ■■ 
And this lock of thine I take with me. 
Boon must thou decaj. 
Boon wilt thou be gray, 
Dark although to-night thy tresses bo I 


** Mother I hear, oh hear my last entreaty I 
Let the Ameral-pile arise once more ; 
Open up my wretched tomb for pity, 
And in flames our souls to peace restore. 
When the ashes glow, 
When the firo-sparks flow, 
To the ancient gods aloft we soar." 

Tl^thoQt donbti a poro and chastened taste will find many 
things to blame in this piece ; but when it is read in the origi- 
nal, it is impossible not to admire the art with which every 
word is made to produce an increasing degree of terror ; every 
word indicates, without explaining, the astonishing horror of 
this situation. A history, of which nothing in nature could 
have given the idea, is related in striking and natural details, 
as if the subject of it had really taken place ; and curiosity is 
constantly excited, without our being willing to sacrifice a 
aingle circumstance, in order to satisfy it the sooner.' 

> We tie htppy to borrow from Professor A jtoan and Mr. Martin the 
following aoooont of the legend on which " The Bride of Corinth" is 

" The legend on which this poem ia baaed ia to be found hi the treatiae 
Utfi 0«v^«Wmv, by Phlegon of Trollea, a ft«edman of the Kmperor Adrian, 
whera it forma the first of the aeriea of marrela recorded by tliat aingnlar 
writer. The opening of the atory ia loat, bat ita nature la made aufldently 
obriooa by what remains. 

** ' She paaaed,' writea Phlegon, * to the door of the atranger'a mom, and 
there, by the almnmer of the lamp, beheld the damsel seated by the aide 
of Maohatea, At thia marrelloua phenomenon ahe waa unable to oom- 
mand herself, and, haatening to the damael's mother, called with a loud 
^oi(oe to Oharito said Demoatntos to arise and go with her to their daugh- 
ter; ftr thsl she hadeomebaok to lif^snd was even now eleeeted with 

OXBKAK posisr. S48 

This piece, neverthoIcBS, is the only one among fhe detMliod 
poems of celebrated Gennan anthon against which Braneh 
taste can find any thing to object: in all the othen tho two 
nations appear to agree. In the Tersos of Jaoobi w« almost 

tho BtnmpTor in hU room. Houring this tUingt SB B on nc smtnt, Obnfle^ 
botwoon Mght at tho intolligonco and tho bowUdoniMni of ths bum, vis 
at flnt diatraotod ; thon, romomboring the daoghter aha had losl| ahs be- 
gan to woep; and in tho end, thinking tha old woman orand, aha eon- 
mandod her to betake honelf to rcat. To thia tha niUBd ndolnad ky 
roproachei, insisting that she bersolf waa In her right mind, bat that fbs 
mother was nnwliling from pure fear to behold her own danghtar; sad as 
at last Charito, partljr oonstrainod by the nurse, partly impellad bj corioa- 
ity, repaired to the door of the stranger'a apartment, tfol aa m aaeood 
messoge had been required to persuade her, a oonaiderabla apaoa of tima 
had in the mean while elapsed, so that by the tima aha raaebad the aham 
ber they were both in bed. Looking in at the doorway, aha tbooghl iks 
recognized the dress and featurea of her daughter; bnl being miafato la 
aatiJy herself of the truth, she oonoeived it best to make no diataxhaBoa. 
Moreover, she hoped, by rising in the morning botlmea, to take tha danaal 
by surprise ; or, even if she riiould fail in this, then sha thonghl to pal 
Mochates to question as to the matter, when of a aunty, aeaing hew aaa- 
montous it wos, he would not speak that which waa nntnia. And ao aha 
withdrew noiselessly from the door. By daybreak, however, aha Anrnd 
the damsel olrcody gone, peradvcnture through ohanoa, paradTantiira 
according to the will of some god. Disconcerted by her ao aoddea with- 
drawal, Uie mother narrated to her young guest all that sha had aaaa, and, 
embracing his knees, besought him to tell her tha truth, and to eoaeaal 
nothing. Upon this the youth waa at flrat smitten with oonatamaltoo sad 
acre oonAision ; at length, however, with difficulty he mentioned her nama, 
Philinnion— recounted how she hod oome to him on the Aral oeeaslon 
with what fondness she had encountered him, and how aha had aaid thai 
her visit was made without the knowledge of her parenta. Tuthannoia, 
to confirm hia tale, he opened a chest and showed a certain gift 
to him by the dainsel---to wit, a golden ring, and alao a aoaif ftem 
boeom, which she had left behind her on the previous night. On 
these proofs Ohorito shrieked, rent her robes Lq twain, tore tha toQ 
her head, and, throwing herself upon the ground, kissed tha waQ4aiowB 
tokens, snd broke forih anew into lamentationa. When now the gnaat 
liad reflected on what had transpired, and b^ald them aU waa^ng and 
wailing immoderately, as though they were now about fbr tha flxal tima to 
lay the damsel in the tomb, he began, all eonfbundad though ha waa, to 
speak words of comfort to them, and vowed to give them intfanatlon if ahe 
ahould return. TranquiUised by theae aasuranoea, Oharito ratomad io har 
chamber, after eo^juring the youth to deal truly with hia prondaa. WhsA 
night dosed in, anid tha hour had oome at which Philinnion waa weal to 
vlail liim, tha othara bald themaalvaa In nadinaaa fbr the tUOaiief ktf 

I WAnAine dK STAXL'b OKBMAirr. 

:oTer the briUiancy and lightness of Gresset. Matdiisson 

given to descriptive poetry (the features of which are fre* 

intly too vagne) the character of a picture as striking in its 

)ring as in its resemblance. Hie charm which pervades 

raL And truly oome the did ; and when she had entered at the aocii»- 
ed time and seated herself upon the bed, Machates onooncemedljr took 
place beside her, longing nevertheless with all his heart to come at the 
om of the bnsiness ; for he could not bring himself to think that it 
a dead maiden with whom ho had holdon intercourse, seeing that she 
med so punctuallj always at the same time, and ate and drank with 
. Therefore did he mistrust the assurances of the nurse and of the 
nts, holding rather to the opinion that thieves had broken into and 
idered the tomb, and sold the garments and the ornament of gold to 
lather of the damsel, who had in this wise made resort unto him. 
hing to be assured of the truth, therefore, he privily called his sor- 
ts and sent them to the parents. Demostratus and Charito hastened 
I all speed to the apartment, and beholding the damsel there, thej were 
I time struck dumb with amazement at the wondrous apparition ; but, 
vering themselves, they ran forward with a great cry, and fell upon 
r daughter's neck. Then spoke Pbilinnion to them in this wise : " Oh, 
her and fatbcff nnjust and ungentle are ye, in that you grant mo not to 
f unmolested with this stranger but for three days at my father^s house. 
r, therefore, because of your busy curiosity, shall ye once again be 
e to mourn. But for me, I return unto my appointed place ; for hither 
3 1 come not without the intervention of the gods." When she had so 
cen, she fell back dead once more, and lay there stretched out upon 

The utmost excitement, says the chronicler, was occasioned in tho 
sehold and the city by this singular event. The family-vault was 
ched, when all the bodies were found in their places, with the excep- 
of rhilinnion*s ; and where that had loin, a steel ring belonging to 
guest was discovered, and a parcd-gilt goblet, both of which she had 
ived from her companion on the occasion of her first visit By tho 
ice of an augur of great reputation, the body was burnt outside the city 
s — an expiatory sacrifice was made to Hermes and the £umenide»— 
rations were performed in tho temples— socriflcos olTered up for tha 
•eror and the public weal ; and, nB an appropriato consummation to tho 
1e, tho youth Machates laid violent hands upon himself. 
It is interesting to observe how dexterously Goethe has availed himself 
be incidents narrated with so much clroumstantiallty in this striking 
nd, and what additional interest he haa given it, by marking so dis« 
tly the period when tho old mythological faith was passing away under 
influence of tho Christian creed. With all roverenoe for tho genius of 
the, it la impossible to deny that he had strong Pagan tendoneiea, and 
« wore noTer so forcibly axhibittd as in tho oomposition of thla won- 
blpoom. It U said that UootI him only two diijt*Uhor^aiMUiih«L 


the poetry of SaKs makes os lore ita anthor aa if lie wen oar 
fiiend. Iledge is a moral poet, whose writmga kad the add 
to the purest devotional feelings. We should stfll, m ahoi^ 
have to mention a crowd of other poet8| if it were possible to 
point out every name deserving of applanse^ i& a o waU y 
where poetry is so natural to all cultivated minds. 

A. W. Schlegel, whose literary ojnniona have made ao mdi 
noise in Germany, has not, in any of his poems, allowed him- 
self the slightest cKprcssion which can attract censim from Ae 
most severe taste. His elegies on the death of a jomig ps^ 
son; his stanzas on the union of the church with the fiae uts; 
his elegy on Rome, are written throughout with ddicaey and 
digni^. The two specimens I am about to give of hie poeCiy 
will convey but a very imperfect idea of it; bat thej wffl 
serve, at least, to render the character of the poet better knowBi 
The sonnet, entitled Attaehment to Ai Worlds Vf^"*^ to Bi 

" Oft will the soul her wings unfold, 
Inyigorated hj contemplation of purer things : 
To her seems, in the narrow circle she ti m v er sss, , 

Her doing vain, and her knowing illesive. 

" She feels deeply an irresistihle longing 
For higher worlds, for freer spheres of aetloD, 
And believes, at the close of her earthly career, 
First lifted is the cortain revealing brighter 

'** Yet lot death touch her body, so that she must leave ii| 
Then she shudders, and looks back with looginf 
On earthly pleasures and mortal companioos: 

*' As once Proserpine, from Enna's meads 
In Pluto's arms borne off, childish in her eomplalnta, 
For the flowers wept, which firom hor bosom fill." 

eompletod, required no eorrootions— an effort which deserves to be 

ed, for few poems In any lanfruago have been so complete and sbeoial^y 

peiibot in tholr struoturo as * Tho Bride of Corinth.* "-nfi!. 

s Agsin we gire alitonl trsnslatlon torn the Oermaa, not belaf sMe le 
eooteat onrselTos with a second-hand veisioa through the 

246 ifAnAiffn DS stael'b oermakt. 

TI16 following piece of Terscs must lose oven moro by a 
translation than the sonnet ; it is called the Melodiei of iXft : 
the swan is placed in opposition to the eagle, — the former aa 
tb.e emblem of contemplative existence, the latter aa the image 
of active existence ; the rhythm of the verse changes when the 
swan speaks, and when the eagle answers her; and the strains 
of both are nevertheless comprised in the same stansa onited 
by the rhyme ; the true beauties of hannony are also found in 
this piece, not imitative harmony, but the internal musio of the 
•ouL Oar emotion discovers it without having recourse to 
vefleetioii ; and reflecting genius converts it into poetiy. 

Tbm Swav. 

"In the waters is pan'd my trsoquil life, 
It timcet only a slight funow that vanishes, 
And never ML mo in the watery mirror 
TIm carving neck and rounded form. 

The Eaglb. 

** I dwell in the rockjr cliffi^ 
I sail in the stormy air, 
Trusting to the heating wings, 
In chase and battle and periL 

Ths SwAjr. 

** He delights the blue of the sky serene, 
He sweetly intoxicates the spicewort's perfome^ 
When I, in the glow of the evening* red, 
Eock my feather' d breast 

Ths Eaglb. 

" I triomph in tempests, 
When they root up the forests, 
I ask the lightning, whether it UDs, 
With glad annihilating pleasure. 

Ths Swav. 

" By a glance from Apollo Invited, 
Bare I bathe in harmony's tide, 
At his feet reposing, when the songs 
TTesonnd in Tempi's vak. 

QXRICAH Foxisr. M 

TkiB Eaou. 

*• I enthrono myself bf Jnpitei's Mil ; 
He winki and I bring bim tlie liffbtBl«|^ 
Tben drop I in sleep mj wi&gi 
Orer bis ruling loeptre. 

Tbm Swav. 

•• Witb tbe blessed power of tbe gods psiiitrated, 
Hats I myself in Leda's bosom entwined | ' 
Flatteringly csress'd me ber tender banda. 
Am sbe ber sense in ^^>to^e lost. 

Tbm Eaoul 

** I came oat of tbe doads like aa anoiv. 
Tore bim from bis feeble compaaloni : 
I bore in my talons tbe yoatbfnl * ' 

Ganymede to Olympns on bigb. 

TsB Swav. ^ 

'* So bore sbe friendly natures, 
Helena and you, ye Dioscuri, * ' 

Wild stars, wbose brotber- virtue, 
Cbanging, sbadow-world and bearen aban. 

Turn Eaqul 

** Now bands tbe nectar-beeker 
Tbe youtb to drinkers immortal ; 
Kerer brown'd is tbe ftir young obisk. 
As endlessly time burries on. 

Tmi Swav. 

'* PropboUcally cootemplsb I oft tbe itan, 
In tbe water-mirror tbe deep-arcb'd JmmsiMlly, 
And me draws an inner tender longing 
Towards my bome in a bearenly land. 

Tbm Eaoul 

'* I spread my wings witb Joy, 
In my youtb, towards tbe deatiilesi wmf 
Can nerer to tbe dust myself aoootlopt 
I am akin to tbe gods. 

S18 ifAnimt Ds stabl'b OXBlCAinr. 

Thb Swav. 

•• Williogly jieldf to death m peaceful Ufa ; 
When the web of exittenoe if QDwoyen, 
Loot'd U the toDgno : melodiooaly celebimlet 
' Xidi br eath the holj moment. 

Tmi Eaqu. 

'* The torch of the dead makei jmmg again:* 
A blooming phcenlx, riees 
The soul free and nnveil'd, 
And greet! its god-like fortone.* 

It it a circoinstance worthy of obsorration, that national 
taste in general differs moch more in the dramatic art than in 
any other branch of literature. We will analyze the caose of 
this difference in the following chapters; bat before we enter 
on the examination of the German theatre, some general obser- 
Tations on taste appear to me necessary. I shall not con- 
udor it abstractedly as an intellectual faculty ; several writers, 
and Montesquieu in particular, have exhausted this subject. I 
will only point out why literary taste is understood in so dif« 
ferent a manner by the French and the nations of Germany. 

I Among the andonts, an eagle rlalng from the fVmeral pile was an em- 
blem of the immortalitj of the sonl, and not nnArtqaently also thai of 

• Wo have again been oliliged to give a literal, line-bj-line veision, in 
order to avoid the shadow of a shadow in a retranalation tnm a ffrasoh 




Those who thiDk themselTes in posaesaion of taste mxb mora 
proud of it than those who believe that they poMcea geniva. 
Taste is in literature what bon ton ib ia society; we con- * 
aider it as a proof of fortune and of birth, or at least of the 
habits which are found in connection with them ; while gonfaa 
may spring from the head of an artisan, who haa nerer had 
any intercourse with good company. In CTery cotmtry when 
there is Tanity, taste will be placed in the highest rank of qnali- 
ficAtions, because it separates difTorent dosses, and sonrea aa a 
rallying-point to all the individuals of the first elasa. In ereiy 
country whore the power of ridicule is felt, taste will bo reek- 
onod as one of the first advantages; for, above all things, it 
teaches us what we ought to avoid. A sense of the fltneaa of 
tilings, and of propriety, peculiarly belongs to .teste; and it fa * 
an excellent armor to ward off the blows of ihe Tarions eon 
tending kinds of self-love, which we have to deal with; in 
short, it may so happen, that a whole nation shall, with rospeet 
to other nations, form itself into an aristocracy of good taste; 
and tiiis may be applied to France, where the spirit of soeie^ 
reigned in so eminent a manner, that it had some eiense tit 
such a pretension. 

But taste, in its application to Uie fine arts, di£fen estiemely 
firom taste as applied to the relations of social life ; when the 
object is to force men to gnmt us a reputation, ojdiemend aa 
our own lives, what we omit doing is at least aa neoessaiy aa 
what wo do ; for the higher orders of society are naturally so 
hostile to all pretension, that very extraordinary advaiitages 
are requisite to compensate that of not giving ooeasioii to the 


world to wpcak abont ui. Taato in poetry doponds on naturo» 
and, like noturo, ahould be eroativo ; tlio principles of this tosto 
aro therefore quite different from those which depend on our 
■ocial rclationi. 

It 18 bj confounding these two kinds of taste that wo find 
toch opposite judgments formed on subjects of literature ; the 
French judge of die fine arts bj tlie rules of social fitness and 
propriety, and the Germans judge of these as they would of 
the fine arts : in the relations of society wo must study how 
to defend ourselves, but in those of poetry, we should yield 
onrselres up without rcserre. If you consider surrounding 
objects as a man of the world, you will not be sensible to tlio 
charms of nature ; if you survey them as on artist, you will 
lose that tact which society alone can give. If we are to sub- 
ject the arts to the regulations of good company, the French 
alone are truly capable of it ; but greater latitude of composi- 
tion is ncccMary, in order strongly to affect the imngination 
and the soul. I know it may be objected to me, and with 
reason, that our three best dromntio authors are elevated to 
the most sublime height, without offending any established 
rule. Some men of genius, reaping a field before unculti- 
vated, have indeed rendered themselves illustrious in spite 
of the difficulties they had to conquer; but is not the cessa- 
tion of all progress in the art, since tliat time, a strong proof 
that there are too many obstacles in the road which they fol- 

^Oood taste in literature is in some respects like order 
under despotism ; it is of consequence tliat we should know at 
what price we purchase it.**' In a political point of view, M. 
Necker said : The utmost degree of liberty i^ould be granted 
which is consistent with order. I would change the maiim, 
by saying, that in literature, we should have all the taste which 
is consistent with genius; for if in a state of society the chief 
object bo order and quietness, that which is of most impor- 
tance in literature is, on the contrary, interosti curiosity, and 

' Buppnm^d by aaUorily. 



that aort of omotion whioli tuio aloiio wonld frequtntly db> 

A treaty of peace might bo proposed between the diffoMBt 
modes of judgment adopted by artisis and men of tho woildi 

* *' TMte, if it mcMi way ihlnflf bat a paltry oonnotiMtirthlp, mwl mmm 
a goneiil ■UBOoptiblllty to truth and noblonaaa ; a loiiaa to di•oon^ and a 
heart to lore and roveronco all beaut/, order, goodneea, whorwooTori or la 
wbataooTor formi and aeoompanlmonta thoj are to bo aeon. Thia aofol/ 
implloa, aa ita ohlef oonditlon, not any given aitemal rank or altaaUoBi bal 
a flnoljr gifted mind, purified Into harmony with itaelf, into keoBnoaa aad 
Juatneaa of yision; above all, kindled into love and gonoroiiB adalia* 
tion. • ' . • . 

" We venture to deny that the Germane are defbotive hi taata ; tTM ai a 
nation, aa a publle, taking one thing with another, we Imagino thoy WMiy 
atand eomparlaon with any of tliolr nelghbora ; aa wriVere, aa oritloa, they 
may doddodly eourt it True, tliore it a maM of dulneaa, awkwardaen, 
and false auRcoptlblUty In tlie lower reglona of their literature ; bat la aol 
bad taste ondomlcal In snohrcglonii of eveiy literature under the aunt 
Pure Stupidity, Indeed, is of a quiet nature, and oontent to be manly 
atupld. But seldom do we find it pure ; seldom nnadultorated with aoma 
tlnoture of ambition, whleh drires It into new and atranga roetamorphoaea. 
llere It has assumed a oonlemptuous, tronchant air, intended to re pr ea e al 
anperior taot and a sort of oll-wlsdom ; there a tnieulent atrabUioua aoowl, 
whloli is to stand for passionate strength ; now we have an outpouring of 
tumid fervor; now a firuitless, asthmatlo hunting after wit and hiuaor. 
Orare or gay, enthuslastle or derisive, admiring or despUlng, the dall asaa 
would be aomethlng wlileh he is not and cannot be. Bliail we oonftaai 
that, of those too oommon extremes, we roekon the German error woMm 
erably the more harmless, and, in our day, by ikr the more ourablat Of 
unwise admiration much may be hoped, for much good ia really in it: bvl 
nnwlse eontempt Is itself a negation ; nothing eomea of it, for it la nothlagi 

** To Judge of a national taste, howerer, we muat ralao our view ftom Sb 
tranaltoiy modos to ita perennial models ; fVom the masa of vulgar wrltarai 
who blaie out and are extinguished with the popular delualoa whleli tkiy 
flatter, to thoae few who are admitted to shine with a pure and htftlaf 
luatre ; to whom, by oommon eonsent, the tye§ of the people are taratdi 
aa to ita lodestar and eelestlal luminaries. Among Oermaa writen of llda 
atamp, we would ask any eandld reader of them, let him be of what aowi" 
try or what oreed he might, whether bad taste struek hhn aa a pravaiUnf 
eharaoteristie. WaaWleland*s taste unenltivatedf Taatt, we ahovld aM*. 
and tasU of the veiy speeies which a dlseiple of the Negative Behool waakL 
call the highest, formed the great oljeel of hia lUb. the ptrftotlen ki 
unweariedly andeayored after, and, more than any other parflMHea, kaa 
attained. The moat fkstldlous Frenchman might raad him with adm hU kt 
of hia maralv Frendh qualitiea. And ia not Xlopatoek, wlHi hia 
jDthnalaBn, hia afuia vuiUj^aad haavanlTt tf iUU i wn ew krt mHA 


bj Gennmns and FrenchmeD. The Frencli ought to abstain 
from condemning even a riolation of rule, if an eneigetic 
thought or a true sentinient can be pleaded in its excuse. The 
Gennans ought to prohibit all that is offensive to natural taste, 

lunar liglit, a man of tastef Hit J/«t#Mw reminda na oitener of no other 
poetathanofViii^andSacine. But it ia to Leaaing that an Engliahman 

would tun with the readieat affection With Lea^g and 

Klopatock might be joined, in thia reapeet, nearly ererj one, we i> not 
Bay of th^ diatingoiahed, but even of their tolerated contemporariea. 
The two Jaoobia, known more or leaa in all coontriea, are little known 
here, if they are aooaaed of wanting literary taate. Theae are men, whether 
■a thinkera or poeta, to bo regarded and admired for their mild «nd lofty 
wiidom, the deroutneaa, the benignity and calm grandeur of their phUo- 
aophical viewa. In each, it were atrange if among ao many high merita, 
thia lower one of a juat and elegant atyle, which ia indeed their natural 
and eren neoeaaary product, had been wanting. We recommend the elder 
JaooT)! no leaa for hia dcameea than for hia depth ; of the younger, it may 
be enough in thia point of view to aay, that the chief pmiaera of hia earlier 
poetry were the French. Neither are Ilomann and Mendelsohn, who oould 
meditate deep thoughts, defective in the power of uttering them with pro- 
priety. The PkaJon of the latter, in its chaste precision and simplicity 
of style, may almost remind us of Xenophon. Socrates, to oor mind, has 
spoken in no modem language so like Socrates, aa here, by the lipa of thia 
wise and cultivated Jew. 

** Among the poets and more popular writers of the time, the case is the 
aame : Utx, GcUort, Cramer, Ramlcr, Klcist, Jlogcdom, Rabener, Gleim, 
and a multitude of lessor men, whatever excellencies they might want, 

certainly are not chargeable with bad taste The same thing 

holds, in general, and with fewer drawbacks, of the somewhat later and 
more energetic race, denominated the GotUngen School, in oontradistinction 
from the Saxon, to which Rabcncr, Cromer, and Gollert directly belonged, 
and mofft of those others indirectly, llolty, Biirger, the two Stolbergs, 
are men whom Bossu might measure with his scale and oompasaea aa 
strictly as he pleased. Of Herder, Schiller, Goethe, we speak not here ; 
they are men of another stature and form of movement, whom Boasu'a 
acale and compasses oould not measure without difficulty, or rather not at 
alL To aay that snch men wroto with tasto of this sort, were saying little ; 
for thia forms not the apex, but the baala, in their conception of atyle,— a 
quality not to be paraded as an exoellenoe, but to be underatood'aa india- 
pensable, aa there by necessity, and like a thing of oourae. 

'* In truth, for it must be spoken out, our opponents are ao widely aatny 
in thia matter, that their viewa of it are not only dim and perplexed, but 
altogether imaginary and deluaive. It b propoaed to School the Germana 
in the Alphabet of taate; and the Germana are already bnaied with their 
A oei denc e. Far firom being behind other hationa in the praotioe or aeienoe 
of CritMmn, U is a ihet, for whidk m tmd&mAj refer to all oompetant 

TA8TB. S58 

'Jl that retraces images repalsiTa to our feelings : no phiio- 
aophical theory, howerer ingenioiia it may be, can compensate 
for this defect; as, on the contrar7,no established role in liter* 
atm 9 can prerent the effect of inrirfontaiy emotions. In rain 
do the most intelligent German writers contend, that, in order 
to understand the conduct of Learns dangfaters towarda their 
fether, it is necessary to show the barbarity of the timea in 
which they lived, and therefore tolerate the actioii of the 
Doke of Cornwall, who, excited by Bqpm, treads out the ey^ 
of GloQcester with his heel on the stage : oar imaginationa will 
always revolt at soch a sight, and will demand other meana of 
attaining the groat beauties of composition. But, were the 
French to direct the utmost force of their literary criticisms 
against the prediction of the witches in Macbeth, Uie ghost of 
Banquo, etc, wo should not the less fed, with the most liydy 
emotion, the terrific effect which it is their endeavor to pro- 

* Wo cannot teach good taste in the arts as we can htm km in 
society ; for the knowledge of ban tan assists us to hide the 
points in which we feil, while in the arts it is above all things 
necessary to possess a creative spirit. Good taste cannoi sop- 
ply the place of genius in literature, for the best proof eflast% 
when there is no genius, would be, not to write at alL If we 
dared to spoak our opinion on this subjecti p**<mpt wo 
say, that in France there are too many eorba ftr 
have so little mettle, and that in Gonnany, 
pcndence has not yet produced effects 
and brilliant 

Judges, that thej are diftinoUy, and srsa lwt^lM^^^^y| 
•Ute wluH it alroady kaown to a graal part of Bmfs 
dm has aaamnad a newfbnn in Oannaay; Jl pfoosiis ea 
and propoioa to itself a hi|^ aim.**— (Ow^pf^t 


■■■■*■ ' * ,j^^,^umimm. 

954 lUDAXB Dx btaxl's OSBICAVT. 



Tax theatre exercises a powerful influeDce over men ; a 
tragedj which exalts the sool, a comedy which paints manners 
and characters, acts upon the mind of the people almost like a 
real event ; but in order ta obtain an j considerable success 
upon the stage, it is necessary for the poet to have studied the 
public which he addresses, and the motives, of every descrip- 
tion, on which its opinion is founded. The knowledge of man- 
kind is even equally essential to the dramatic author with 
imagination itself; he must touch sentiments of general inter- 
est without losing sight of the particular relations which influ- 
ence his spectators ; a theatrical performance is literature in 
action, and the genius which it demands is so rare only be- 
cause it exhibits the astonishing combination of the perfect 
knowledge of circumstances with poetical inspiration. Noth- 
ing then would be more absurd than an attempt to impose on 
all nations the same dramatic system ; when the object is to 
adapt a universal art to the taste of each particular country, 
an immortal art to the manners of the passing moment, most 
important modifications are unavoidable; and from thence 
proceeds such a diversity of opinions as to what constitutes 
dramatic talent : in all other branches of literature men agree 
more easily. 

It cannot, I think, be denied, that the French are thei most 
expert nation in the world in the combmation of theatrical ef- 
fects ; they bear away the prize from all others, likewise, in 
the dignity of situations and of tragic stylo. But, even while 
we acknowledge this double superiority, we may experience 
more powerful emotions from less regular works ; the concep- 
tion ia often more bold and striking in the foreign dramai and 


often oomprehends I know not what power wHIiin itself whidi 
•peaks more intimately to our heart, and touches more nearly 
those sentiments by which we have been personally affected. 

As the French are easily tired^ so they aToid prolixity in 
OTery thing. When the German attends the theatre, he, in 
general, sacrifices only a dull game at cards, the monotonous 
diances of which hardly serve to fill the vacant hoar; he asks 
then nothing more than to seat himself peaceably at the play, 
and grants the author all the time that he wants to prepare 
his events, and develop his characten; the impatience of the 
Frenchman would never tolerate such delay. 

The German dramas usually resemble the works of the an- 
cient paintcn : their physiognomies are fine, eipressive, medi- 
tative ; but all the figures are on the same plane, sometimes 
confused, sometimes placed, the one by the sklo of the other, 
as in bas-relie&, without being grouped together before the 
eyes of the spectator. The French think, and with reason, that 
the theatre, like painting, ought to be subjected to the laws of 
perspective. If the Germans wore expert in the dramatic arti 
^they would be equally so in all the rest; but they are in every 
thing incapable of address, even innocent ; their nndentanding 
; is penetrating in a straight line ; the fine and impressive of a 
pontive kind are subject to their dominion ; but relative bean- 
', ties, those which depend on the knowledge of cause and effect, 
and the rapidity of expedients, are, generally speaking, beyond 
the reach of their faculties. 

It is singular, that, of the two people, the French are th*08e 
who exact the most sustained gravi^ in the tone of tragedy ; 
but it is precisely because the Flench are mott aoeeesiUe to 
pleasantry, that they refuse to admit it, while nothing derangea 
the imperturbable seriousness of the Germans : it is always by 
its general effect that they judge of a theatrical piece, and 
they wait till it is finished bcdbre they either condemn or ap- 
plaud it The impressions of the IVench are more ready ; and 
they would in vain be forewarned that a comic soene ia de- 
signed to set off a tragic situation,— they would torn the firti 
into ridicule without waiting for the ether; every detail nasi 

256 ifAnAine dB STASl'b OEBICANT. 

for them be of equal interest with the whole : they will not 
allow credit for an instant to the pleasure which they demand 
fiom the fine arts. 

The difierence between the FVench and the German theatre 
may be ezplamed by reference to the national characters ; but 
to these natural diyersiUes most be added some points of sys* 
tematic opposition, of whicK it is important to ascertain tiie 
canse. What I hare said already on the snbjects of classical 
and romantic poetry, is also applicable to the theatre. The 
tragedies of mjrthological foundation are of a distinct nature 
bom the historical; subjects drawn fiK>m &ble were so well 
known, the interest which they inspired so uniyersal, that it 
was enough to announce them, to strike the imagination at 
once. That which is eminently poetical in the Greek trage- 
dies, the intervention of the gods and the action of &tality, 
renders their progress more easy ; the detail of motives, the 
development of characters, the diversity of facts, become less 
necessary when the event is explained by supernatural power ; 
every thing is cut short by a miracle. Tlio action too of the 
Greek tragedy is astonishingly simple ; the greater part of Uie 
events are foreseen and even announced at tlie first opening ; 
a Greek tragedy is, in short, no other Uian a religious ceremo- 
ny. The spectacle was presented in honor of the gods ; and 
in hymns, interrupted by dialogue and recitation, were painted 
sometimes merciful, sometimes avenging, deities, but always 
Destiny hovering over the life of man. When these same 
subjects were transferred to tlie French theatre, our great poets 
bestowed upon them more of variety ; they multiplied inci- 
dents, contrived surprises, and drew closer the knot It was 
necessary in some sort to supply the want of th(&t national and 
religious interest which the Greeks felt and we' cannot expe- 
rience; yet, not content with adding circumstances to the 
simplicity of the Greek action, we have lent to their person- 
ages our own manners and sentiments, our modem conduct, 
and modem gallantry ; and it is on that account, that so great 
a number of foreigners are unable to conceive Uio' admiration 
with which our d^Mfarnvn inspire us. In ftct| when the^ 


are heard in another language, stripped of the magie bean^ 
of ftyle, one is surprised at the little emotion they [vodiice^ 
and the inconsistencies they display ; for that which aoeoida 
neither with the age nor with the national manners of the per* 
sonages represented, what is it but ineonsisteney t la nothing 
ridiculous but that which is unlike ourselves t 

Those pieces of which the subjects are derived from Greece^ 
lose nothing by the severity of our dramatic rules; bati would 
we taste, like the English, the pleasure of possessing an hia- 
torical theatre, of being interested by our reoollctetionii or 
touched by our religious feelings, how would it be possiUe r^ 
idly to conform at once to the three unities, and to thai sort 
of pomp which is become a law of our tragic poetry t 

The question of the three unities is one which haa been so 
often agitated, that one hardly dares at present to talk of it ; 
but, of all the three, there is but one of importance, the uviij 
of action, and the others can never bo considered but aa suboi^ 
dinato to that Now if the truth of the action is resigned to 
the puerile necessity of keeping the scene unchanged, imd con* 
fining it to tlie space of twenty-four hours, to impose such ne- 
cessity, is to subject the Genius of the Drama to a torture sirn* 
ilar to that of acrostics — a torture which sacrifices the snbstanoo 
to the form. 

Of all our great tragic poets, Voltaire has most freqn^tly 
treated modem subjects. To excite emotion, he haa drawn 
his resources from religion and chivalry, and whoever is m* 
core, must, I think, allow that AUirt^ Zalrt^ and Tamcride^ 
cause more tears to flow than all tho Greek and Roman ihif^ 
(Pccuvrt of our stage. Dubelloy, with a talent very inferior, 
has nevertheless attained to tlie lurt of awakening French reo- 
oUections in a French theatre ; and, even though he eould not 
write, his pieces make one feel an interest similar to thai 
which the Greebi must have experienced when they saw their 
own historical deeds represented before their eyes. "What aa 
advantage may not genius derive from such a disposition t And 
yet there are hardly any events of our era, of which the aotkm 
can Im comprised in one day, or in the same plaoe; the divii^ 


•itj o( facta which is anporindacod by a more complicatod io- 
ciai order, the delicacies of sentiment which are inspired by a 
more tender religion ; in shorti the truth of manner which 
must bo observed in pictures more nearly resembling ourselvcii 
require a greater latitude in dramatic composition. 

A recent example may be cited of the difHculty of conform* 
ing, in subjects drawn from modem history, to our dramatic 
orthodoxy. Tlie Templien of M. Kaynouard it certainly one 
of the pieces most deserving of praise Uiat have appeared for 
a great length of time ; yet what is more strange tlian the ne- 
cessity which the autlior has imagined himself under of repre- 
senting Uie whole order of Templars as accused, judged, con- 
demned, and burned, in the space of twenty-four hours I The 
revolutionary tribunals were expeditious; but whatever might 
have been their atrocious inclination, they never were able to 
proceed so rapidly as a French tragedy. I might point out 
the inconvenience attending the unity of time not less demon- 
strably in almost all our tragedies taken from modern history ; 
but I have choftcn the most remarkable only, in order to make 
these inconveniences the more conspicuous. 

One of the most sublime expressions overheard on the stage 
occurs in this noble tragedy. In the last scene it is related 
that the Templars are singing psalms at the stake ; a messen- 
ger'is sent to convoy to them the pardon which the king had 
resolved to bestow — 

** UaU il n'dtait plus tomps, les chants avaient cctsd/' 
" It was too lato~the boljr long bod ceased." 

It is thus the poet gives us to understand that these generous 
martyrs have just perished in the flames. In what pagan trag- 
edy can be found the expression of such a sentiment! And 
why should the French be deprived at their theatre of all that 
is irvlj in harmony with themselves, their ancestors, and their 

The French consider the unity of time and place as an in-* 
dispensable condition of theatrical illusion ; foreigners mako 
this illosaon eonnst in the dilineation of diaxafi^t^Voi^k^Xx^^ 


of longuogo, and tho oxact obsonration of tho mannon of flio 
ago and country which thoy design to paint Wo most prop- 
orly ondorstand tlio moaning of Uiis oxprossioiii niosioiii wbon 
applied to tlio arts. Since wo consent to boIioYO that aeton 
separated from oarsclves by a few boards aro Grookhoioos 
dead tliroe thousand years ago, it is TOiy cortain that what wo 
call illusion is not tho imagination, that what wo bohold roaUy 
oxists ; a tmgedy can only appear to us with tho form of troth 
by means of tho emotion which it inspires. Now H aocoid- 
ing to the naturo of tlio circumstances roprcsentody tho change 
of place and tlio supposed pralongation of time add to tUa 
emotion, the illusion tlieroby becomes the more lively. 

It is complained that the finest tragedies of VoltairOi 2<ilre 
and Taneride^ aro founded on misunderstandings; but how do 
otherwise than have resource to the means of intrigoe, when 
tho developments are considered as taking effect in so diort a 
space! The dramatic art thon becomes a dilBculty worth van- 
quishing; and to make tho greatest events pass natorally 
Uirough so many obstacles, requires a doxteri^ similar to that 
of jugglers, who cause tho objects which thoy present to the 
spectator to vanish from his sight 

Historical subjects accommodate themselves still less than 
those of invention to tho conditions imposed upon our writers; 
that tragic etiquette which is thought necessary on our theatre 
is frequently opposed to tho new beauties of which pieces taken 
from modem history would bo susceptible. 

There is in the manners of chivalry a simplicity of langoags^ 
a nalvtU of sentiment, full of charms; but neither those 
channs, nor that pathos which results from the contrast of 
oonmion circumstances with strong impressions, can be admit* 
ted into our tragedies : they require, throughout, dignified ait* 
nations ; and yet the picturesque interest of the middle ages 
is entirely owing to that diversity of scenes and characters^ 
from which the romances of the Troubadours have drawn efr 
fects so touching. 

The pomp of Alexandrines is a still greater obstaele fhaa 
even the rootine of good taste, to any change in the form and 


sabstance of tlio FVench tragedies : it cannot be said in an Al- 
exandrine rene that one comes in or goes out» that one sleeps 
or wakes, without seeldng some poetical torn by which to ex- 
press it; and numberless sentiments and effects are banished 
fiom the theatre, not by the mlcs of tragedy, bat by the rery 
exigencies of the Terse. Racine is the only French writer who, 
in the scene between Joas and Athalie, has once rentnred to 
sport with these difficulties ; he has managed to give a sim- 
plicity equally noble and natural to the language of a child : 
but this admirable effort of an unparalleled genios does not 
prevent the multiplication of artificial difficulties from being 
too frequently an obstacle to the most happy inyentions. 

M. Benj. Constant, in the so justly admired preface to his 
tragedy of WdUuin^ has remarked that the Germans painted 
characters, the French only passions, in their dramatic pieces. 
To dilineate characters, it is necessary to abandon the majes- 
tic tone which is exclusively admitted into French tragedy ; 
for it is impossible to make known the faults and qualities of a 
man, but by presenting him under different aspects : in nature, 
the vulgar often mixes with the sublime, and sometimes re- 
lieves its effect : in short, the true action of a character cannot 
be represented but in a space of time somewhat considerable, 
and in twenty-four hours there is no room for any thing but a 
catastrophe. It will perhaps be contended, that catastrophes 
are more suitable to the theatre than the minute shades of 
character ; the emotion excited by lively passions pleases the 
greater part of the spectators more than the attention required 
for the observation of the human heart The national taste 
alone can decide upon these different dramatic systems ; but 
it is justice to acknowledge, that if foreigners have a different 
conception of the theatrical art from ourselves, it is neither 
through ignorance nor barbarism, but in consequence of pro- 
found reflections which are worthy of being examined. 

Shakspeare, whom they choose to call a barbarian, has, per- 
haps, too philosophical a spirit, too subtle a penetration, for 
the instantaneous perception of the theatre ; he judges charao- 
ten with the impartiality of a saperiot bdngj, tsnsi KWwKosiwik 


represents them with an ironj almost MachiaTdian ; his eom- 
positions have so much depth, that the rapidity of tfaeatrioal ac- 
tion makes us lose a great part of the ideas which they eon* 
tain : in this respect, his pieces deserre more to be road than 
to be seen. By the very force of his imagination, Shakapeare 
often suffers his action to grow cool, and the French nndei^ 
stand much bettor how to paint their characters as well as 
their decorations with those striking colors which prodaoo e^ 
feet at a distance Whatl will they say, can Shakspearo be 
reproached with having too much nice^ in his perceptions^ 
he who has indulged himself in situations so terrible t Shak- 
spcaro often reunites qualities, and even faults, that are eon* 
teiry to each other ; he is sometimes within, sometimea with* 
out the sphere of art; but he possesses the knowledge of the 

human heart even more than that of the theatre. 


In their dramas, their comic operas, and their comedies, the 
French evince a sagacity and a grace which only themselves 
possess in the same degree ; and, from one end of Europe to • 
the other, they perform scarcely any thing but translations ef 
French pieces ; but it is not the same with their tragedies. As 
the severe rules to which they are subjected, occasion their 
being all more or less confined within the same circle, tho pei^ 
fection of style is indispensable to the admiration which they 
are calculated to inspire. If any innovation on the mlea ef 
tragedy were risked in France, all the world would immediately 
cry out, a melodrama I But is it a matter of no importanea 
whatever, to ascertain what it is that causes so many peopla 
to be pleased with melodramas! In England, all classes are 
equally attracted by the pieces of Shakspeare. Our finest 
tragedies in France do not interest the people ; under the pre- 
tence of a taste too pure and a sentiment too refined to soppoit 
certain emotions, the art is divided into two branchea; tha 
worst plays contain the most touching situations ill e ipr es s ed, 
and the finest paint with admirable skill sitoations oftoi edid, 
because they are dignified : we possess few tragedies eapaUft 
of exciting at tho same time the imaginations of all lai^ of 


ThcM ohBcnrationa aro not intondod to convoy tho slightest 
blamo against oor great masters. In the foreign dramas there 
are scenes which produce more lively impressions, but nothing 
to be compared to the imposing and well-combined general 
effect of our dramatic ehefhd'onivre : the point is only to know 
whether, in being confined, as at present, to the imitation of 
these che/s-iTceuvref we shall ever produce any new ones. 
Nothing in life ought to be stationary ; and art is petrified 
when it refuses to change. Twenty years of revolution have 
given to the imagination otlier wants than those which it ex- 
perienced when the romances of Cr6billon painted the love 
and the manners of the age. Greek subjects aro exhausted ; 
one man only, Le Mcrcicr, has been able to reap new glory 
from an ancient subject, Agamemnon ; but the taste of the ago 
naturally inclines to historical tragedy. 

Every thing is tragic in the events by which nations aro 
interested ; and this immense drama, wliich the human raco 
has for tlicse six thousand years past been performing, would 
furnish innumcmblo subjects for the theatre, if more freedom 
were allowed to tho dramntic art. Rules are but tho itinerary 
of genius ; they only tench us that Comcillc, Racine, and Vol- 
taire, have passed that way; but provided we arrive at the 
same end, why cavil about the road f And is not tlio end that 
of moving, at the same time that we ennoble, the soul f 

Curiosity is one of the great excitements of the theatre ; but 
the only inexhaustible interest is that which is inspired by 
deep affection. We love that.species of poetry which discov- 
ers man to man ; we love to see how a creature like ourselves 
combats with suffering, sinks under it, triumphs over it, is ren- 
dered subject, or rises superior, to the power of fate. In some 
of our tragedies we find situations equally violent with those 
of the English and German ; but these situations are not repre- 
sented in all their force ; and their effect is sometimes softened, 
or even altogether effaced, by affectation. Our authors seldom 
depart from a sort of conventional nature which clothes in its 
own colors ancient manners with the resemblance of those of 
mortem times, vice with that of virtue, assassination with thai 

mx DSAHino abt. 908 

of galhmtiy. Hiib naturo it boaatifiil and adorned wiUi can^ 
but iho fatigues us in tho ond ; and tho dosiro of plunging into 
dcopor mysteries must obtain invinciblo possession of gonins. 

It is much to be desired, then, that wo could OTorloap tho 
barriers with whieh this art is surrounded by tho law of ihymet 
and hemisticlis ; we should allow greater boldness, and exact 
a more intimate acquaintance with history; for, if we confine 
ourselyes exclusively to these evory-day fSuntor impressions of 
tho same great productions of genius, wo shall at last see upon 
tho stage nothing but so many heroic puppets, sacrificing lofo 
to duty, preferring death to slavery, inspired by .antithesis in 
actions as in words, but without any resemblance to that aston- 
ishing creature which is called man, or any relation to that 
fearful destiny which by turns impels and pursues him. 

The defects of the German theatre aro obvious : every thing 
that looks like want of acquaintance with tlie world, whether 
in art or in society, immedlitely strikes the most superficial 
observer ; but, to feel the beauties which come from tiie soul, 
it is necessary to appreciate the works that aro prosentod to ns 
with a sort of candor which is altogether consistent with the 
highest superiority of mind. Ridicule is often only a vulgar 
sentiment translated into impertinence. Tho faculty of per- 
ceiving and admiring real greatness through all tho fiuilts of 
bod taste in literature, as through all the inconsistencies with 
which it is sometimes surrounded in the conduct of life, is the 
only faculty that does honor to the critic 

In making my readers acquainted with a theatre founded on 

principles so diifcrent from our own, I certainly do not pretend 

that these principles aro better, still less that they ought to be 

! adopted in France : but foreign combinaUons may excite new 

'. ideas ; and when we see with what sterility our literature ia 

threatened, it seems to me difficult not to desire that our wiii- 

! ers may enlaige a little the limits of the course : would they 

/ not do well to become conquerors, in their turn, in the empira 

of the imagination! It would cost the Vrmh but •ittte to 

follow such advice. 




Tm Gennan theatre did not exist before LessiDg ; they per- 
formed only translations and imitations of foreign dramas. 
The theatre requires, even more than any other branch of 
literature, a capital, a centre of union for the resources of 
wealth and of the arts ; in Germany erery thing is scattered 
abroad. In one town they have actors, in another, authors, 
in a third, spectators ; and nowhere a focus in which to collect 
them together. Lcssing exerted the natural activity of his 
character in giving a national theatre to his countrymen, and 
he wrote a journal entitled Dramaturpte, in which he exam- 
ined most of the pieces translated from the French, which were 
then acted in Germany : the correctness of thought which he 
aisplays in his criticisms, evinces even more of a philosophical 
spirit than knowledge of the art Lessing generally thought 
like Diderot on the subject of dramatic poetry. He believed 
that the strict regularity of the French tragedies was an obsta- 
cle to the adoption of a great many simple and affecting sub- 
jects, and that it was necessary to invent new dramas to supply 
the want of them. But Diderot, in his dramas, substituted the 
affectation of simplicity in the room of a more usual affecta- 
tion, while the genius of Lessing is really simple and sincere. 
Ho was the first to give to the Germans tiie honorable impulse 
of following their own genius in their theatrical works. The 
originality of his character shows itself in his dramas : yet are 
they subjected to the same principles as ours ; their form has 
nothing in it peculiar, and though ho troubled himself little 
about the unity of time and place, he did not rite, like Goethe 
mod Schiller, to the conception of a Tk«if vjitocsu Hvsasa 


Bamhelm^ Emilia OaloHi^ 9sA Koihan the Sa^^ are the moil 
worthy to be cited of all the worlcs of Leasing. 

An officer of nobler character, after haying reoeiTad maaj 
wounde in the army, finda his honor on a sadden tfareatened 
by an unjost prosecution : he irill not diseorer to the womsi 
he Wes, and by whom he is lored, the attachment ho has ht 
her, being determined not to make her a partaker in his mif 
fortune by marrying her. This is the whple snbject of Mmm 
wm Bamhdm. With means so simploi Leanng has known 
how to produce a great interest; the diaiogoe is foil of spirit 
and attraction, the stylo rery pure, and every character so wsB 
displayed, that the slightest shades of their sereral impressioas 
create that sort of interest that is inspired by tho conftdenoe of 
a friend. The character of an old sorjeant, deroted with his 
whole soul to a young officer who is the object of penecutioo, 
affords a happy mixture of gaycty and sentiment; this sort of 
character always succeeds on the stage ; gayety is the mors 
pleasing when we know that it does not proceed from insensi- 
bility, and sentiment more natural when it displays itsolf only 
at intervals. In tlie same piece we have tho part of a nench 
adventurer, in which the author has altogether fiuled; ens 
should have a light hand to touch the ridicnlons part of a 
Frenchman's character; and most foreigners have danbed it 
with coarse colors, which present nothing that is either ddiesis 
or striking. 

JSmilia OcUotti is only the story of Yiiginia invested with 
modem circumstances, and thrown into private life; its ssnli* 
ments are too strong for the situation, its action too importaal 
to be attributed to an unknown character. Lessing ftlti no' 
doubts a republican spleen against courtiers, which he has 
gratified in drawing the portrait of one who assists his mastsr 
in dishonoring a young and innocent girl ; this eoartieri Mar- 
tinelli, is almost too vile for probability, and the traits of his 
baseness are destitute of originality : we perceive that Lessiag' 
hu represented him thus with a hostile intent, and aothiBg* 


injarcs. tho boaaty of a fiction so much, as tbo appearaneo of 
any dcugn which has not that beauty for its object The char- 
actor of tho prince is treated with greater nicety ; that union 
of tumultuous passions with inconstancy of mind, so fatal in a 
person invested with power, is perceivable in all his conduct : 
an aged minister brings him papers, among which is a death- 
sentence ; in his impatience to visit the object of his afibcUons, 
the prince is about to sign, without having looked at it; tho 
minister avails himself of a pretext to withdraw it, shuddering 
aa ho perceives the exercise of such power combined with such 
want of reflection. Ihe part of the Countess Orsina, a young 
mistress of the prince, whom he abandons for Emilia, is drawn 
with tho greatest genius,— a mixture of frivolity and violence, 
which wo may well expect to find in a young Italian attached 
to a court Tliis woman shows us what society has produced, 
and what that same society has not been able to destroy,— tho 
natural character of the South, combined with all that is most 
factitious in tho manners of tho great world, and tho singular 
assemblage of haughtiness in vice and vanity in sentiment 
Such a picture cannot present itself in our rules of verse, or in 
our established laws of dramatic poetry, yet is it not the less 
essentially tragic 

The scene in which the Countess Orsina excites Emilia's 
father to kill the prince, in order to save his daughter from 
the disgrace which threatens her, is one of tho greatest beauty; 
there we see virtue armed by vice, and passion suggesting all 
that the most rigorous austerity could dictate to inflame tho 
jealous honor of an old man ; it is the human heart presented 
in a now situation, and it is in this that true dramatic genius 
consists. The old man takes the poniard, and being prevented 
from assassinating the prince, he uses it for the sacrifice of his 
daughter, Orsina is the ignorant author of this terrible action ; 
it was she who engraved her transitory fury on a mind of deep 
sensibility; and the senseless ravings of her guilty passion 
proved the cause of shedding innocent blood. 

One remarks in the principal characters of Lessing a certain 
£unily Ukenesi, which leads one to imagine that he has painted 


UoMoIf in BOToral of his pononaget ; Major Tdlhoim ia Wumi 
Odoard, tiio father of Emilia, and tho Tomplar in NaUuuii ail 
throo aro endued with a proud BonaiUlity of a miaanthropia 

Tlio finest of tho works of Lessing is Jfkikm ik$ &^ 
There is no dramatic piece in which wo soo the principlia of 
religious toleration brought into aotion with mora natara and 
dignity. A Turk, a Templar, and a Jew aro tho principal 
characters of this play ; the idea is taken from tho otoiy of 
the three rings in Boccaccio, but tho conduct of tha piooa is 
entirely Lcssing's own. The Turk is Sultan SaladiDi who is 
represented, according to history, as a man of a tmlj great 
mind ; Uie young Templar has in his character all tho aavority 
of the religious state to which ho has consecrated Iiimsdf ; 
and tlie Jew is an old man, who has acquired a laifpo fortona 
by trade, but whose liberal habits are the result of hia oxtoa- 
sive knowledge and natural benevolence. IIo comprdhoods in 
one sentiment all the modes of sincere belief and aeea the 
Divinity itself in the heart of every virtuous man. 

Tliis is a character of admirable simplicity. One ia aatoa* 
ishod at the emotion which it excites, although not agitated 
by lively passions or powerful circumstances. Once, novortho* 
loss, they attempt to tear away from Kathan a young girl to 
whom he hod octod the part of a iather, and whom ho had 
carefully watched from the hour of her birth : the pam of 
separating himself from her would be bitter to him ; and to 
defend himself against the injustice which would laTiah her 
from him, ho relates in what manner she had Men into his 

The Christians immolated all the Jews at Gasa, and Nathan 
beheld his wife and seven children perish in a singlo night; 
he passed three days prostrate in the dust, swearing implaoa* 
ble hatred to the Christian name; by little and littla hia 
reason returned, and he cried : *^ Yet there is a God, his will bo 
done P At this moment a priest came to beg him to toko 
care of a Christian in&nt, an orphan from tho exadle, and Hia 
old Jew adopted it Tho omotion of Nadum in mddiig thk 


recital is the more pathetic, as he endearors to restnun it, and 
the shame of old age makes him wish to hide what he feels. 
His snhlime patience does not &il, though attacked in his 
belief and in his pride, by their accusing him, as a crime, of 
having educated Reca in the Jewish religion ; and his justifi- 
cation has no other end than to procure him the right of con- 
tinuing to do good to the child whom chance bestowed upon 

The play of Nathan is yet more attractive by the delineation 
of character than by its situations. The Templar has some- 
thing of the ferocious in his disposition, which arises from the 
fear of being susceptible of tenderness. The oriental prodi- 
gality of Saladin is opposed to the generous economy of Na- 
than. The sultan's treasurer, an old, austere dervise, informs 
him that his revenues are exhausted by his bounties. ** I am 
sorry for it,** says Saladin, ''because I shall bo forced to re- 
trench my donations : for myself, I shall still retain that which 
has always constituted the whole of my fortune — a horse, a 
sword, and one only God." Nathan is a philanthropist; but 
the disgrace which the Jewish name has attached to him in 
society, mixes a sort of contempt for human nature with the 
expression of his benevolence. Every scene adds some lively 
and striking features to the development of these several per- 
sonages ; but their relations to each other are not close enough 
to excite any very powerful emotion. 

At the conclusion of the piece it is discovered that the 
Templar and the girl adopted by the Jew are brother and sis- 
ter, and that the sultan is their uncle. The author's intention 
has evidently been to give an example, in his dramatic family, 
of the most extended religious fraternity. The philosophical 
end to which the whole piece is made to contribute, diminishes 
its theatrical interest; it is almost impossible to avoid a certain 
degree of coldness in a drama, of which the object is to de- 
relop a general idea, however fine it may be : it resembles a 
mere moral apologue ; and one is apt to say that the persons 
of the drama are there, not on their own account, but to con- 
tribute to the advancement of knowledge. It ia ts^^ ^k]iX 


there is no fictitioas, nor eren real eventi firom wUch eoiiie ri> 
flection may not be derived ; bat the event ought to lead the 
reflection, and not the reflection give birth to the event. Iiiiag> 
ination, in the fine arts, onght always to be the fint in actkm. • 

Since Leasing, there have appeared an infinite nnniberef 
German dramas ; at last people begin to get tired of them. 
The mixed species of drama was introduced only by reason of 
the constraint which is imposed by tragedy ; it is a sort of 
contraband in art ; bat when entire freed<»n is mllowed, ens 
no longer feels the necessity of having reooarse to the drama 
for the ase of simple and nataral circamstancea. Tht diamB» 
then, woald preserve only one advantage, that of pninting^ in 
the manner of romances, the ntaations of oar own liveii the 
manners of the times in which we live ; yet^ when we henr 
only nnknown names pronoanced on the stage, we loee one cf 
the greatest pleasares that tragedy can confer, the historical 
recollections which it traces. We expect to find more interest 
in the piece, becaoso it represents to as what we ere in the 
habit of seeing daily, forgetting that an imitation too near the 
truth is not what one looks for in the fine arts. Hie drama is 
to tragedy what waxen images are to statues ; there ia too modi 
trnth, and not enough of the ideal ; too much, if we fftmridnr 
it in the light of art, yet no.t enough to render it nature. 

Lcssing can never be reckoned a dramatic aathor of the flnl 
order; he attended to too many different objects to aoqnirs 
great skill in any department whatever. Genius ia nnivenal; 
but a natural aptitude to one of the fine arts h necessarily 
exclusive. Lcssing was, above all, a dialectician of the flnl 
eminence, which is an obstacle to dramatic eloquenoe^ lor itn- 
timent disdains transitions, gradations, and motivea ; it ia a 
continual and spontaneous inspiration which cannot render 
any account of itself. Lessing was, no doubt, &r flmn Ao 
dryness of philosophy, yet he had more of vivacity than of 
sensibility in his character; draibatio genius is of a aaoie 
capricious, a more sombre, a more onpremeditaled eaal| ttan 
suits a man who has devoted the greatest part of hia life la 
the art of reasoning. 

STO lunAxi xxB njJoJu OKBUinr. 



SonuxxB, in his carliost yoathi poBtoasod a fonror of goniuii 
a kind of intoxication of mind, which misgnided him. The 
CoMpiraey o/Fiaeo^ Inirigu$ and Love^ and, lastly, th$ Both 
bersp all of which havo been porfonned in the French theatre, 
are works which the principles of art, as well as those of mo- 
rality, may condemn ; but, from the age of five-and-twenty, 
bis writings were pure and severe. The education of life 
depraves the frivolous, but perfects the reflecting mind. 

The JHobbert has been translated into French, but greatly 
altered ; at first they omitted to take advantage of the date, 
which aflixcs an historical interest to the piece. The scone is 
placed in tlio fifteenth century, at tlie moment when the edict 
of perpetual peace, by which all private challenges were for- 
bidden, was published in the empire. This edict was no doubt 
productive of great advantage to the repose of Germany ; but 
tlie young men of birth, accustomed to live in tlie midst of 
dangers, and rely upon their personal strength, fancied that 
they fell into a sort of shameful inertness when they subjected 
themselves to the authority of the laws. Nothing was more ' 
absurd than this conception ; yet, as men are generally gov- 
erned by custom, it is natural to bo repugnant even to the best 
of changes, only because it is a change. Schiller's Captain of 
the Robbers is less odious than if he were placed in the pres- 
ent times, for there was little difference between the feudal 
anarchy under which he lived and the bandit life which he 
adopted; but it is precisely the kind of ezenso which the 
author affords him that renders his piece the more dangerous. 
It has prodneed, it must be allowed, a bad effect in Germany. 
Toong men, enUiosiastie admiren of the dianeter and mods 


of Uring of tho Captain of tho Bobberii haTO triad tofaallrti 

Thoir tosto for a licontioat life thoj hoBorod wUh the mm 
of tho lovo of liberty, and fanciod thcmaolTM to bo Indignirt • 
against tho abusot of locial ordor, whoa thoj were only tiidi 
of tlioir own privato condition. Thoir onap in leboUkm «m 
moroly ridiculout, yot havo tragodict and romaneea mora in* 
portanco in Germany than in any othor oonntry. Bvoiy iUag 
thoro it done seriously; and tho lot of lifb k infliioiieod ^ 
tho reading such a work, or tho seeing snoh m pofformaeeSi 
What is admired as art, mnst bo introdnood into real existeees. 
Wertker has occasioned more suicides than the flnesi wensa 
in tho world ; and poetiy, philosophy, in shorti the ideal hsii 
often more command over the Oormansi than natnre and ths 
passions themselves. 

Tlie subject of the Robben is tho same with that of ae maay 
other Actions, all founded originally on tho perable of tho 
Prodigal. There is a hypoeritieol son, who eondueta himseV 
well in outward appearance, and a culpable son, wlio poasessss 
good feelings among all his faults. Tliis contrast ia Teiy fins 
in a religious point of view, because it bears witnoaa to na thai 
God reads our hearts; but is nevertheless objootionaUo in in- 
spiring too much interest in favor of a son who liaa doaortod 
his father's house. It teaches young pcoplo with bad baadi^ 
universally to boast of tlio goodness of thoir boartai altboo^ 
notliing is more absurd tlmn for men to attribute to tiionaelves 
virtues, only because they have defects ; this ifogatire pMp 
is very uncertain, since it never can follow from their waali^f 
reason, that they are possessed of sensibility : wadneas is eftsa 
only an impetuous egotism. 

The character of the hypocritical son, such aa SehiDer bai 
represented him, is much too odious. It is ono of the fcnlli 
of very young writers, to sketch with too hasty a peaoil; the 
gradual shades in painting are taken for timidity of eharaetsr, 
when, in fact, they constitute a proof of tho matority of takirti 
If tho personages of the second rank are not painted wtth aeS- 
cient exactness, tho passions of tho chief of the lebban HO 


admirably expressed. The eneigy of this character manifests 
itself by turns in incrednlitj, religion, love, and cmelty ; having 
been unable to find a place where to fix himself in his proper 
Tank, he makes to himself an opening through the commission 
of crime; existence is for him a sort of delirinm, heightened 
sometimes by rage, and sometimes by remorse. 

Hie loTC scenes between the yonng girl and the chief of the 
lobbers, who was to have been her husband, are admirable in 
point of enthusiasm and sensibility ; there are few situationa 
more pathetic than that of this perfectly virtuous woman, al- 
ways attached from the bottom of her soul to him whom she 
loved before he became criminal. The respect which a woman 
is accustomed to feel for the man she loves, is changed into a 
sort of terror and of pity ; and one would say that the unfor- 
tunate female flatters herself with the thought of becoming the 
guardian angel of her guilty lover in heaven, now, when she 
can never more hope to be the happy companion of his pil- 
grimage on earth. 

Schiller's play cannot be fairly appreciated by the French 
translation. In this, they have preserved only what may be 
called the pantomime of action ; the origiuality of the charac- 
ters has vanished, and it is that alone which can give life to 
fiction ; the finest tragedies would degenerate into melodramas, 
when stripped of the animated coloring of sentiments and pas- 
sions, llie force of events is not enough to unite the specta- 
tor with the persons represented ; let them love, or let them 
kill one another, it is all the same to us, if the author has failed 
of exciting our sympathies in their iavor. 

Dan Carloi is also a work of Schiller's youth, and yet it is 
considered as a composition of the highest rank. The subject 
ot this play is one of the most dramatic that history presents 
to us. A young princess, daughter of Henry the Second, takes 
leave of France and of the brilliant and chivalrous court of her 
father, to unite henelf to an old tyrant, so gloomy and so severe, 
that even the Spanish character itself was altered by his gov- 
emment, and the whole nation for a long time afterwards bore 
the imprew of its master. Don CatloSf tl ftnfc \>«^sKA[itft^V^ 



Elizabeth, continnes to love her though she hai become his 
•topmother. Those great politieal events^ the Beformatioiiy 
and the Revolt of the Low Countries, are intermiiigled wilh the 
tragic catastrophe of the condemnation of the son bj the fih 
ther : the interests of individuals and of the puUiCi in their 
highest possible degrees, are united in this tragedj. Maiij 
1 writers have treated this subject in France, but under the ain 
cient riginu its representation on the stage was prohilHted; 
it was thought deficient in respect to the Spanish nation to 
represent this fisu^t in their history. M. d'Aisnd% that Span- 
ish ambassador remarkable by so many featores which prove 
the strength of his character and the narrowness of his intel* 
lect, was asked permission for the performance of the tngedy 
ai Don Carlos, just finished by its author, who expected great 
glory from its representation : " Why does he not take aaothei 
subject r answered M. d'Aranda. **M. I'Ambaiaadeur,** said 
they to him, ^ consider that the piece is finished^ and that the 
author has devoted to it three yean of his life.** " Bat» good 
heavens I** returned the ambassador, ^is there no other event 
in all history but this f Let him choose another.** They never 
could drive him out of this ingenious mode of reasonings which 
was supported by a firm resolution. 

Historical subjects exercise the genius in an entirely difTer- 
ent manner from that in which it is exercised by snljocta of 
invention ; yet it requires, perhaps, even more imagination to 
represent historical &ct in a tragedy, than to create aitnatioM 
and personages at wilL To alter &cts essontialfy in tranafer- 
ring them to the theatre, is always sure to produce a d iaag i e e- 
able impression ; we expect truUi ; and wo are painfully mi^ 
prised when the author substitutes in the room ni it any fietioa 
which it may have pleased him to adopt: neverthelen, hiaCoij 
requires to be combined in an artistic manner, in order to pio- 
duce its effect on the stage, and we must have at mioe udted 
in tragedy, the talent of painting the truthi and that of remkr* 
ing it poetical. Difficulties of another nature p r ea en t thaw 
sdves when the dramatic art embraces the wide field of iavw 
tiom; it majbe tail to be then more at liberal yel boAIm 


ii more raro than tho power of eharaetoiuing unknown ponon* 
agca in such a manner as to give them the eoniittoney of 
names already illustrious. Lear, Othello, Orosmano, Tancrddo, 
have received immortality at the hands of Skakspearo and Vol- 
taire, without having ever existed ; still, however, subjects of 
invention are, generally speaking, dangerous to the poet, 
through that very independence which they confer upon him. 
Ilistorical subjects seem to impose restraint; but when tlio 
writer avails himself properly of that support whicli may bo 
derived from certain fixed limits, the career which they pro- 
scribe, and the flights which they permit, oven these veiy 
limits are favorable to genius. The fidelity of poetry gives 
a relief to truth, as the sun*s rajrs to colors, and restores 
to events which it graces the lustre which antiquity had ob- 

Tlie preference is given in Germany to those historical trag* 
edies in which art displays itself, like the prophet o/thepaetj 
The author who means to compose such a work as this, must 
transport himself altogether to the age and mannen of the 
pcnonagcs represented, and an anachronism in sentiments and 
ideas is more justly obnoxious to tlie severity of criticism than 
in dates. 

It is upon tlicse principles that some persons have blamed 
Schiller for having invented the diameter of the Marquiiy do 
Posa, a noble Spaniard, a partisan of liberty and of toleration, 
passionately zealous in favor of all the new ideas which then 
began to ferment in Europe. I imagine that Schiller may bo 
justly reproached with having made the Marquis de Posa the 
channel for the communication of his own private opinions; 
but it is not, as is pretended, the philosophical spirit of the 
eighteenth century that is attributed to him. The Marquis do 
Posa, such as Schiller has painted him, is a German enthusiast ; 
and this character is so foreign to our own times, that wo may 
aa well conceive him a personage of the sixteenth century, as 

* An sxpmsioB of Vradsiiok Sohlsgtl, on lbs psattntlen of s gnst lus- 


of that in which wo livo. It b, peifaapti a ip-oator onor 10 
mipposo that Philip the Socond ooald long liaton whh ploann 
to lucli a man, or that ho conld havo gimntod him hit oonl- 
denco ovon for an instant Posa, ipoaking of Philip the Bee* 
ond, says with reason, '^ I havo boon vainly ondoarorii^ to ele- 
Tato his soul, for in this cold and thanklose soil, the Howtis cf 
my imagination could noTcr prospor.** Bat Philip the Secoal 
would novor, in reality, havo conrorsod at all with anch a 
young man as tho Marquis do Poea. The aged son of C9iailai 
the Fifth could never have soon, in youth and onthaiiatmi asy 
thing but the error of nature and tho guilt of tho Bofimnatioa ; 
had he at any time bestowed his oonfldenoo on a goneitMi 
being, he would have belied his eharaetery and deaonrod the 
world*s forgiveness. 

There are inconsistoncies in every human eharaetori area ia 
that of a tyrant; yet do those vory inoonsistonoioa eoiuieet 
themselves by invisible tics to their nature. In tho tragedy e( 
Schiller, one of these peculiarities is seised with aingular dex- 
terity. Tlie Duke of Modina-Sidonia, a genoral advaaeod ia 
years, who had commanded the Invincible Armada, dispened 
by the Englinh fleet and tlie tempests, returns to Spain, and all 
are persuaded that he is about to bo sacriflcod to tho leeeat- 
mont of Philip the Second. Tlie courtiers retire to a diataaee ; 
no man dares draw near him ; he Uirows himself at the feel ef 
Philip, and says to him, ** Sire, you behold in me all that 
remains of Uiat fleet, and of that valiant ermyi which yea 
intrusted to my charge.'* ^ God is above md,** repUoe Ph^; 
**I sent you forth against man, not against tho atoma of 
heaven; bo still considered as my faithful sorvanti** TUa ii 
magnanimity: yet from whence does it proooedt Vnm a 
certain respect for age, in a monarch who is surprised thai aa* 
turo has permitted him to grow old ; from pride, whieh will 
not suffer Philip to attribute to himself his misfortoneei fai ae* 
knowledging he has made a bad choice ; firom the IndolgeBee 
he feels in favor of a man dejected by fortune, becaoae he de> 
nree that every species of prido may be hnmUed, oieepllif 
Ua own; from the veiy dianeter, in eherti ef a de^pe^ 


nataral obstacles revolt less than the most feeble volantary re- 
sistance. Tliis scene costs a strong light on the character of 
Philip the Second. 

No doubt the character of the Marquis de Posa maybe con- 
sidered as the work of a young poet, who has sought to engraft 
his own sentiments upon his favorite personage; yet is this 
character very fine in itself also, pure and exalted in the midst 
of a court where the silence of terror is disturbed only by the 
sabterraneons voice of intrigue. Don Carlos can never be a 
great man : his father must necessarily have repressed his ge- 
nius in infancy; the Marquis de Posa appears to be indis- 
pensably placed as an intermediate personage between Philip 
and his son. Don Carlos has all the enthusiasm of the affec- 
tions of the heart, Posa, that of the publie virtues; one should 
be the king, the other the friend ; and oven this change of 
situation in the characters is an ingenious idea ; for how could 
the son of a gloomy and cruel despot become a patriotic hero t 
Where could he have learned to respect mankind f From his 
fiEithcr, who despised them, or from his father's courtiers, who 
deserved that he should despise them f Don Carlos must bo 
weak in order to be good; and the very space which love 
occupies in his existence, excludes from his soul all political 
reflections. I repeat, then, that the invention of this character, 
of the Marquis de Posa, appears to me necessary, in order to 
bring forward in the drama the great interests of nations, and 
that chivalrous elevation which was suddenly changed, by the 
increasing knowledge of the times, into the love of liberty. 
These sentiments, however modified, could never have been 
made suitable to the prince royal ; in him they would have 
taken the form of generosity, and liberty must never be repre- 
sented as the boon of power. 

The ceremonious gravity of the court of Philip II, is 
characterized in a very striking^ manner in the scene between 
SSlixabeth and the ladies of honor. She asks one of them 
which she likes best, the residence at Aranjuez, or at Madrid f 
the lady answers that^ from time immemorial, the queens of 
Spain Lava been accnstomed to remain three months at 


Mftdrid, and throe monthi at Anuijuei. She does wA aHov 
hortolf the least mark of profcrenee, thinkiDg bondf bora to 
have no fooling, oxcopt as riio is comnumded to Jmd. Klinibeth 
asks for hor daugktor, and is told that the hoar ajqpoiiited tof 
sooing hor is not yot como. At hwt the king appoMSi and he 
banishos this same dovotod lady for ton yeaiii beemiae dbi 
has loft tho quoon to horsolf for a Mnglo half honr. 

Philip is roooncilod for a moment to Don Cailo% aadf bj 
ono spooch of kindness, regains all his paternal M&mitf om 
him. ** Behold,** says Carlos, "tho hoarona bow dowA to 
assist at tho reconciliation of a father to a son P* 

It is a striking moment, that in which the Marquis de 
Posa, hopeless of escaping the vengeance of Philip^ ootreals 
Elizabeth to recommend to Don Carlos the aooompUahnMiii ef 
tho projects they have formed together for the glory and haf* 
piness of the Spanish nation. " Remind himi'' he say% ** when 
he sliall bo of riper years, — remind him that he ought to have 
respect for tho dreams of his youth.** In filets aa we advance 
in life, pnidenco gains too much upon all oar other virtoes; il 
seems as if all warmth of soul were merely folly ; and yet, if 
man could still retain it when enlightened by oxporienoei if he 
could inherit the benefits of ago without bending ante ito 
weight, he would not insult those elevated virtaesi whooe Cnt 
counsel is always the sacrifice of self. 

Ihe Marquis de Posa, by a too complicated saceosuon of 
circumstances has been led to imagine himself able to aerve 
the interests of Don Carlos with his fiither, *in i^ppeaiing to 
sacrifice him to his fury. He (ails of success in these prqjoeto; 
tho prince is sent to prison, the marquis visits him thera^ «!• 
plains to him the motives of his conduct, and while he ia em- 
ployed in justifying himself is shot by an assassin commissioaed 
by Philip, and fjftlls dead at the feet of his friend. The grief 
^Don Caries is admirable ; he demands of his fiither to re- 
store to him the companion of his youth, who has been stain 
by hinii aa if the assassin retamed the power of giving hmk 
1^ to his victim. With his eyes fixod on this motionleM 
eorpee^ bat Utely animated by so many noblo tbooghl^ Dw 


Carlos, hinisclf condemned to dio, learns what death is m tha 
frozen features of his friend. 

In this tragedy there are two monks, whoso characters and 
modes of life are finely contrasted : the one is Domingo^ the 
king's confessor ; the other a priest living in the retreat of a 
solitary convent at the gate of Madrid. Domingo is nothing 
but an intriguing perfidious monk, and a courtier, the confidant 
of the Duke of Alva, whose character necessarily vanishes by 
the side of that of Philip, since Philip appropriates to himself 
all that is grand in the terrible. Ihe solitary monk receives, 
without knowing them, Don Carlos and Posa, who had ap- 
pointed a rendezvous at this convent in the midst of their 
greatest agitations. The calm resignation of the prior, who 
gives them reception, produces a pathetic effect. ^ At these 
walls,^ says the pious recluse, " ends the bustle of the world.** 

But there is nothing in the whole piece that equals the 
originality of tlio last scene but one of the fifth act, between 
the king and the grand inquisitor. Philip, pursued by the 
jealous hatred he has conceived against his own son, and by' 
tlie terror of the crime ho is going to commit— even Philip 
envies his pages who are sleeping peacefully at his bed*s foot, 
while the hell in his own mind robs him of repose. He sends 
for the grand inquisitor to consult him on the condemnation 
of Don Carlos. Tliis cardinal monk is ninety years old ; more 
advanced in years than Charles the Fillh, if alive, would then 
have been ; and who has formerly boon that monarch's pre- 
ceptor ; he is blind, and lives in a perfect solitude ; the spies 
of the Inquisition bring him the news of what is passing in the 
world : ho only informs himself whether there are any crimes, 
or faults, or ideas, to punish. To him, Philip the Second, in 
his sixtieth year, is still young. The most gloomy, tlio most 
cautious of despots, still appears to him an unthinking mon- 
arch, whoso tolerating spirit will introduce the Reformation 
into Spain ; ho is a man of sincerity, but so wasted by time, 
that he looks like a living spectrci whom Death has forgotten 
to strike, because ho believod him long since in his grave. 

Ho calls FUlip to aoooont for the death of Posa\ and t%^ 


proaches him with it^becaase it wai for thelnqiiiiitioii tobaft 
condemned him, regretting the Tictim onlj as he had beea 
ieprived of the right of immoUting it himaelt Philip iatff^ 
rogates him as to the condemnation of his son : ** Woakl 700,* 
he says, ** inspire me with a belief which itripa the mnider ef 
a child of its horror!** Ihe grand inqoiaitor anawen him, 
"To appease eternal justice, the son of God died on the crmb.* 
What an expression I What a sangoinarj appliealion of the 
most affecting doctrine I 

This blind old man represents an entire centnrj in hia own 
person. The profound terror with which the Inqniaitioii and 
the very fanaticism of this period afflicted Spain, b painted to 
the life in this laconic and rapid scene : no eloqnenea ia capable 
of so well expressing such a crowd of reiieetiona ably bioii|^ 
into action. 

I know that many improprieties may be detected in the play 
of Den Carlos ; but I have not taken npon myaelf thia oflks^ 
for which there are many competitors. The most ordinaiy 
men may discover defects of taste in Shakspoare^ SchiUer» 
Gootho, etc ; but when in works of art, we think onlj of mn 
dorvaluing their merits, tliore is no difficulty in the oporataoa. 
A soul, and genius, are what no criticism can beatow: thesa 
must bo reverenced wherever they are seen, with whatever 
cloud tlicse rays of celestial light may be surrounded. Far ' 
from rejoicing in tlio errors of genius, they ought to bo Mt aa 
diminishing the patrimony of the human mop^ and the titles of 
honor in whidi it glories. The tutelary angelf ao gfaoefolly 
painted by Sterne, might he not have dropped one twr on the 
faults of a noble work, as on the errors of a noUe life, in ofd«r 
to efface its remembrance t 

I shall not dwell any longer on the productions of Sehillei'a 
youth; first, because they are translated into French; and, 
aecondiy, because in them he has not yet displayed thai hla> 
torical genius which has rendered him so justly the djoot of 
admiration in the tragedies of his maturer age. Dm (Mm 
itself although founded on an historical fact, is little elea than a 
work of the imaghiation. Its plot ia too eoniplioaledi n 

S80 ICADAMB DS 0taxl's OXBlCAinr. 

aeter of mere inveniion, that of the Marqab de Poeai occupict 
m too prominent part; the tragedy itself may bo elassed at 
something between history and poetry, without entirely satis- 
fying the roles of either : it is certainly otherwise with those 
of which I am now about to attempt giving an idea. 



Wallxhbtxik is the most national tragedy that has ever 
been represented on the German stage; the beauty of the 
verses, and the grandeur of the subject, transported with en- 
thusiasm all the spectators at Weimar, where it was first per- 
formed, and Germany flattered herself with possessing a new 
Shakspeare. Lessing, in censuring the French taste, and join- 
ing with Diderot in the manner of conceiving dramatic art, bad 
banished poetry from the theatre, and left nothing there but 
romances in dialogue, which were but a continuation of ordi- 
nary life, only crowding together in representation events 
which are of less frequent occurrence in reality. 

Schiller thought of bringing on the stage a remarkable cir- 
cumstance of the Thirty Years* War, that civil and religious 
struggle, which, for more than a century, fixed in Germany 
the equilibrium of the two parties, Protestant and Catholic. 
The German nation is so divided, that it is never known 
whether the exploits of the one half arc a misfortune or a 
glory for the oUier; nevertheless, the Wallemtein of Schiller 
has excited an equal enthusiasm in all. The same subject is 
divided into three distinct plays ; the Camp of Wallensttiny 
which is the first of the three, represents Uie effects of war on 
the mass of the people, and of the army ; the second, the Pic' 
displays the political causes which led to the dissen* 
between the ehie£i; and the third, the Death </ WaUen^ 


atein^ is tho result of the enthonasm tad envj wlueh ibm wgrn^ 
tation of WalloDstcin had excited. 

I have seen them pcrfonn the prblogaoi entitlod ike On^ 
qf WdlUmtein. It seemed as if wo were in the midat of an 
army, and of an army of partisans much more ardent and 
mndk worse disciplined Uian regular troops. Tlio peaaaBt% 
the recruits, the victualling women, the soldiers, all eontiib- 
ated to the effect of this spectacle ; the impression it prodness 
is so warlike, that when it was performed- on tho stage at Bei^ 
lin, before the officers who were about to depart for the nnny, 
shouts of enthusiasm were heard on every side. A aaaa of 
letters must be possessed of a very poweifbl imaginatioa to 
figure to himself so completely the life of a camp^ the spirit of 
independence, the turbulent joy excited by danger itael£ Man, 
disengaged from all his ties, without tegmt and without fine- 
sight, makes of yean a single day, and of days a singlo inatant ; 
he plays for all he possesses, obeys chance under the fi»rm of 
his general : death, ever present, delivers him with gayety from 
the cares of life. Nothing, in the Camp of WdUetuUin^ is bbots 
original than the arrival of a Capuchin in the midst of the 
tumultuous band of soldiers who think they are defending the 
Catholic cause. The Capuchin preaches to them moderatioii 
and justice in a language full of quibbles and puns, which differs 
from that of camps no otherwise than by its affectation and the 
use of a few Latin phrases : the grotesque and soldier-like elo- 
quence of the priest, the rude and gross language of those who 
listen to him — all this presents a most rem«TkabIo picture of eon- 
fusion. The social state in fermentation exhibits man under a 
singular aspect : all his savage nature reappean, and the rem- 
nants of civilization float like a wreck upon tho troubled waveSi 

The Camp of Wallenitein forms an ingenioua introdnelxm 
to the two other pieces ; it penetrates us with admiration bt 
the general, of whom the soldiers are continually taOdai^ in 
their games as well as in their dangen ; and when the tragedy 
begins, we fed, from the impressions left by the prologne whieh 
has preceded it, as if we had witnessed the histoiy whieh poe- 
try is about to embellish. 

288 IfADAMB DB STAEl's QKBOlAirr. 

The second of the piecea, called the Pteeohmini^ contains 
the discords which arise between the emperor and his general, 
the general and his companion in arms, when the chief of the 
army wishes to sabstitate his personal ambition in the place of 
the authority he represcntSy as well as of the cause he supports. 
Wallenstein was fighting, in the name of Austria, against the 
nations who were attempting to introduce the Beformation 
into Germany ; but, seduced by the hope of forming to himself 
an independent power, he seeks to appropriate aU the means 
which he ought to have employed in the public service. The 
generals who oppose his views, thwart them not out of virtue, 
but out of jealousy ; and in these cruel struggles eveiybody is 
concerned except those who are devoted to their opinions, and 
fighting for their conscience' sake. People will say, what is 
there in all this to excite interest I The picture of truth. Per* 
haps art demands the modification of this picture by the rules 
of theatrical effect ; yet the representation of history on the 
stage is always delightful. 

Nevertheless, Schiller has known how to create pcrsotages 
formed to excite a romantic interest He has painted Maxi- 
milian, Piccolomini, and Thecia, as heavenly beings,- who pass 
through all the storms of political passion, preserving love and 
truth in their souls. Tliccla is the daughter of Wallenstein ; 
Maximilian, the son of the perfidious friend who betrays him. 
The two lovers, in spite of their parents, in spite of fate, and 
of every thing except their own hearts, love, seek each otlier, 
and are united in life and death. These two beings appear, in 
the midst of the tumults of ambition, as if predestined; they 
are the interesting victims which heaven has elected to itself^ 
and nothing is so beautiful as the contrast between the purest 
self-devotion and the passions of men, as furiously eager for 
this earth as if it were their only inheritance. 

There is no winding up of the tragedy of ihs Piecolomi$U; 
it ends like a conversation broken off. The Fhmch would find 
it difficult to support these two prologues, the one bnrieeqiM 
and the other serious, which lead to the loal tiagod/i wUdi k 
ih4 Dtaik pf WaUiiuUin, 


A writer of great genius has reduced the SVilepy of 8dQ- 
ler into a single tragedy, according to Fireiieh fimn and method. 
The eologies and criticisms of which this woik haa been the 
objecti will give us a natoral opportonitjr of oopdadipg ov 
estimate of the differences which chara^eriae tho diMMtie 
system of the French and Germans. The French wiitor has 
been censured for not having been siiflkiently poetical ia Us 
verses. Mythological subjects allow all the briUiaiiejr cf ina* 
ges and of lyrical inspiration ; bnt how ia it peasiMe to admits 
in a subject drawn from modem history, the poetry of tlio it* 
eital of Theramencst All this ancient pomp ia snitabb to 
the fiunily of Minos or Agamemnon, bat would bo onl j tidiea* 
Ions affectation in pieces of another sort There ava 
in historical tragedies, at which the elevation of Hhm aoal 
rally inspires a more elevated tone of poetry: anbh is^ fo 
example, the vision of Wallonstein,* his harangiM after the 

> *' II oat, ponr 1m mortolt, do Joiin mjaUriout, 
Od, dot lions da oorpo notro Aine d^iragte, 
Au Min do raTcnir est tont I ooap plonj^ 
Et Bsisit, jo DO sais par quel henreuz offort, 
*Lo droit Inattonda dUnteirogor lo aoit. 
La nait qui |ir6o6da la sangUnto Jonrn^e 
Qui dn h^ros da nord trancha la dostln^e, 
Jo Toillols aa milioa dos gaoiriors ondormis. 
Un trouble inTolontairo agitoit moa esprlts. 
Jo panourus le camp. On Toyoit dana la pkdas 
Biillor dcs fonx lointaina la lumidra inoertalne. 
I/oa appcls do la gardo ot Ics pas dos ehevsua 
Troubloiont souls, d'un bruit souTd, I'univMMl fipes^ 
Lo Tont qui ^mlssoit I travors loo vallte 
Agitolt lontomont noo tontos ^bruddes. 
Los astns, 4 rograt pcrgant I'obsonrit^ 
VoTBoiont sur not drapoaux una pAJo olaft^ 
Quo do mortola, mo dis-Jo, 4 ma voix obAlsotal I 
Qu*aToo omprossomont sous men ordrs lis £MlitiaSI 
lis ont, sur mos suoo^, plaod tout lour ospdr, 
Maia, si lo sort Jsloux m'arrsehoit lo poovoir. 
Quo blontdt Jo vorrois s*4vaiioiilr Itnr stf • t 
£q ost-U un du rnoUM qui mo rost&t flddls I 
Ah! s*Uane8tunso«l,Jit'inToqao. Odasthil 
Dalgno mt l*indiquer per an signs ositslB.*' 



mutiny, his monologue before his death, ete. Still, the eon- 
texture and development of the piece, in German as well as in 
French, requires a simplicity of style, in which one perceives 
only the purity of language, and seldom its magnificence. In 
France we require an efiect to be given, not only to every 
scene, but to every verse, and this is what cannot bo made to 
agree witli reality. Nothing is so easy as to compose what 
are called brilliant verses; there are moulds ready made for 
the purpose ; but what is very difficult, is to render every de- 
tail subordinate to the whole, and to find every part united in 
the whole, as well as the reflection of the whole in every part 
French vivacity has given to the conduct of their theatrical 
pieces a very agreeable rapidity of motion ; but it is injurious 
to tlie beauty of the art to demand tlie succession of efiect 
every instant, at the expense of the general impression. 

lliis impatience, which brooks no delay, is attended by a 
singular patience in enduring all that the established laws of 
propriety enjoin ; and when any sort of ennui is required by 
the etiquette of art, these same Frenchmen, who are irritated 
by the least prolixity, tolerate every thing out of respect to 
custom. For example, explanations by way of recital are indis- 
pensable in French tragedy, and yet certainly they are much 
less interesting than when conducted by means of action. It 
is said that some Italian spectators once called out, during the 
recital of a battle, ** Let Uiem raise the curtain, that we may 
see the battle itself.** One often experiences this desire at tlie 
representation of our tragedies, the wish of being present at 
the scene which is related. The author of the French Wal' 
lenitein was obliged to throw into the substance of his play 
the exposition which is produced in so original a manner by 
the prologue of thi Camp. The dignity of the first scenes 
perfectly agrees with the imposing tone of French tragedy; 
but there is a sort of motion in the irregularis of the German, 
the want of which can never bo supplied. 

The French author has also been censured for the double 
interest inspired by the love of Alfred (Piecolomini) for Thecla, 
and the conspiracy of Wallenstein. In France, they require 

THB T>F^^^* ov aoifTTiTjnu S85 

thai a piooe be entiroly of lore or entiidy of politkt; tiba 
miztnn of inbjects is not reliAhod; and for a oonsid«rabb 
timo past, especially when the subject is an affair of state, IImj 
have been unable to compre)iend how the sonl should admit a 
thought of any thing else. NcTcrthelesBi the great pictoro of 
the conspiracy of Wallcnstein is only oompleted by the niia- 
fortunes which it brings upon his fiunily ; wo are to bo remiad- 
ed how cruelly public events may rend the private affeetioiia; 
and this manner of representing politics as a world, apart firom 
which sentiments are banished, is prejudicial to morality 
harsh, and destitute of dramatic effect 

A circumstance of detail has been much censured in the 
French tragedy. Nobody has denied that the farewell of 
Alfred (Max. Piccolomini), in leaving Wallcnstein and Theda, 
is extremely beautiful ; but people have been sca n dal i wd at 
the circumstance of music being, on this occasion, introdoeod 
into a tragedy : it is, to be sure, very easy to suppress it, bat 
why refuse to participate in the effect which it produces t 
When we hear this military music, the prelude to the battle, 
the spectator partakes of the emotion which it is ealenlatod 
to excite in lovers, whom it threatens witli an eternal sep- 
aration : the music gives relief to the situation ; a new art 
redoubles the impression which another has prepared; the 
tones and the woids by turns awaken our imagination and our 

Two scenes, also, entirely new to our stage, have excited the 
astonishment of French readers : after Alfred has killed him- 
self, Thecla asks a Saxon officer, who briugs the news, all the 
details of this hornble catastrophe ; and when her soul has 
been satiated with grie^ she announces the resolution she has 
taken to live and die by the tomb of her lover. Eveiy exprea- 
sion, every word, in these two scenes, is marked by the deepest 
sensibility ; but it has been pretended that dramatic interest 
can no longer exist when there is no longer any nnoertainty. 
In Eranee, they always hasten to conclude with what is irrepa- 
rable. The Germans, on the contrary, are more enriona aboal 
what their personages feel than about what happens to th«s; 


thoj are not afraid to dwell upon a aitnation torminated in 
respect of its being an eventf bnt which still exists in the 
capacity of suffering. More of poetrji more 6f sensibility, 
more of nicety in the expressions, are necessary to create emo- 
tion during the repose of action, than while it excites an always 
increasing anxiety: words are hardly remarked when &cts 
keep us in suspense ; but when all is silent, excepting grie( 
when there is no more change from without, and the interest 
attaches itself solely to what passes in the mind, a shade of 
affectation, a word out of place, would strike like a false note 
in a simple and melancholy tune. Nothing then escapes by 
the sound, and all speaks directly to the heart 

The censure which has been most frequently repeated 
agiunst the French WalUrutein is, that the character of Wal- 
lenstein himself is supcrstiUous, uncertain, irresolute, and that 
it docs not agree with the heroic model admitted for this class 
of character. The French lose an infinite source of effects and 
emotions in reducing their tragic characters, like the notes of 
music, or the colors of the prism, to some striking features 
always the same ; every personage must be conformable with 
some one of the principal acknowledged types. Logic may 
be said to be with us the foundation of the arts, and this «»- 
duiaiing (ondoyanie) nature of which Montaigne speaks, is 
banished from our tragedies ; nothing is there admitted but 
sentiments, entirely good or bad, and yet there is nothing that 
is not mixed together in the human mind. 

In France, a character in tragedy is as much canvassed as 
that of a minister of state, and they censure him for what he 
does or for what he omits to do, as if they were judging his 
actions with the Gazette in their handSi The inconsistencies 
of the passions are admitted into the French theatre, but not 
the inconsistencies of characters. Passion being more or less 
understood by every heart, we can follow its wanderings, and 
anticipate in some degree its very contradictions ; but diarao- 
ter has always something unforeseen in it, that can be subjected 
to no fixed rules. Sometimes it directs itself towaida ill 
nif §ometime§ stnj$ from it VHiwa \\ Sa «^ tH % 

THB DRA1CA8 OF i(T!mJ.WL 887 

son in FrancOi that ho ImowB not what lie wantii nobody k 
any longor intoroatod about him ; while it ia preeiaely the man 
who knows not what he wants in whom natare diqdaya lier- 
•olf with a Btrongth and an independence tnily proper tn 

The charactcra of Shakspeare frequently excite rery differ* 
ent impressions in the spectators daring the comae of the 
same pUy. Bichard II, in the throe first acts of the tragedy 
which beisrs his name, inspires us with contempt and arenioiiy 
but when overtaken by misfortune and forced to resign the 
throne to his enemy in full parliament, his situation and hia 
courage move us to tears. We love that royal nobleness of 
character which reappears in adversity, and the crown still aeema 
to hover over the head of him whom they have stripped of 
it A few words are enough for Shakspeare to dispose of the 
souls of his audience and make them pass from hatred to jnty. 
The innumerable varieties of the human heart incessantly le* 
new the springs of genius. 

It may be said that men are really inconsistent and whim- 
sical, and that the noblest virtues are often united with mis- 
erable defects ; but such characters are hardly suitable to the 
theatre ; dramatic art demanding rapidity of action, men can- 
not be painted on this canvas, but by strong touches and 
striking circumstances. But does it thence follow that it la 
necessary to confine ourselves to characters deddedly good 
and evil, which appear to be the invariably elements of the 
greater number of our tragedies f What influence eoold tbo 
theatre exercise over the morality of the spectatorsi if it di»- 
played to them only a conventional nature f It ia true thai 
on this factitious soil virtue still triumphs, and vice is alwaya 
punished ; but how can this ever apply itself to what passes in 
life, since the persons that are presented to us on tfie stago 
are not men such as really exist f 

It would be curious to see the play of WdU$^Uin peifimii- 
ed on our stage ; and if the Firenoh author had not so rigor* 
ously sul]]ected himself to the rules of the French draasai ik 
would be still more curious ; but| to Judge rightly of the sfMt 

288 KADAunc DB btaxl'b Qvsauoxr. 

of these innoyatioiMy we should carry with as to the contem- 
phtions of art a jouth of the soul eager after the pleasures o' 
noYcItj. To adhere to the masterpieces of the ancients is an 
excellent role of taste, but not for the exercise of genins; un- 
expected impressions are necessary to excite it; the works 
which from onr infancy, we have known by heart, become 
habitual to ns, and no longer produce any striking effect upon 
the imagination. 

Mary Stuart appears to me the most pathetic and best con- 
ceived of all the German tragedies. The fate of this queen^ 
who began her life in such prosperity, who lost her happi- 
ness through so many errors, and who was led, after nineteen 
years of imprisonment, to the scaffold, causes as much of 
terror and of pity as CEdipus, Orestes, or Niobe; but the 
very beauty of this story, so favorable to genius, would crush 

The scene is at Fotheringay Castle, where Mary Stuart is 
confined. Her nineteen years of captivity are already passed, 
and the tribunal appointed by Elizabeth is on the point of de- 
ciding the fate of the unfortunate Queen of Scotland. Mary's 
nurse complains to the governor of the castle, of the treatment 
which ho makes his prisoner suffer. The governor, strongly 
attached to Queen Elizabeth, speaks of Mary with harsh se- 
verity. We perceive that he is a worthy man ; but one who 
judges Mary as her enemies have judged her. He announces 
her approaching death ; and this death appears to him to be 
just, because he believes that she has conspired against 

In speaking of WalleMtein^ I have already had occasion to 
notice the great advantage of exposition in action. Prologues, 
choruses, confidants, all possible methods to explain without 
fatiguing, have been resorted to, and it seems to me that the 
best of all is to enter immediately upon the action, and make 
known the principal character by the effect which it produces 
upon all around. It is to teach the spectator in what point 
of view he is to regard what is about to pass before him ; it ia 
to teach without telling it him ; for » «n|^<b ^ot^^Xfik^SoL v^ 


pean to be addressed to the paUiCi destfoyi the iUanon of the 
drmma. Our curiosity and our emotiont an alieadj eidtfldi 
when MaryStoart enters ; we recogniie heri not hf % portrait 
bat by her influence both on friends and enemiea* It is bo 
longer a narrative to which we are listenini^ bat ma mnt^ 
which seems to pass immediatdy^before oor eyea» 

The character of Maiy Stuart is admirably aopported, and 
never ceases to interest during the whole performanoa. Weaki 
passionate, vain of her person, and repentant of ber lift^ we at 
once love and censure her. Her remorse and her enon eieile 
compassion ; we perceive, throuj^oat, the dominion of that 
admirable beauty so celebrated in her time. A man, who 
forms the design of saving her, dares to avow, that Le deivolas 
himself for her only from the enthusiasm whic]i her chanos 
have inspired. Elizabeth is jealous of those charms, and otm 
Leicester, the favorite of Elizabeth, has become the loT«r of 
Mary, and has secretly promised her his support The aUiao- 
tion and envy which are produced by the enchanting giaeea 
of this unfortunate woman, render her fate a thonsaad tioMS 
more affecting. She loves Leicester : this unhappy woman ez- * 
periences against that sentiment, which has already more than 
once dashed her cup with so much bittemesSi Her afaMMt 
supernatural beauty appears to be the cause and excuse uf that 
habitual intoxication of the heart, which is the fatality of her 

The character of Elizabeth excites attention in a very diHiH^ 
ent manner : a female tyrant is a new subject for paintli^ 
The littlenesses of women in general, their vanity, their desbe 
of pleasing, in short, all that results to them fhmi senritodfl^ 
tends to despotism in Elizabeth, and that dissimulation, whiA 
is bom of weakness, forms one of the instruments of her abiO> 
lute power. Doubtless all tyrants are dissemblers. Men must 
be deceived, that they may be enslaved. In this case, thqr 
may require at least the politeness of fislsehood. But whii 
distinguishes the character of Elizabeth, is the desire of pleat* 
ing united to the utmost deqMtism of will, and aD that is most 
refined in the aeMAofte ^ % ^cmaa^ miiWwtoA Vk^ thn 

Vou L— U 


▼iolent acts ot loveroign authority. The conrtieni also, of the 
qneen eyince a sort of baseness which partakes of gallantry. 
They wish to persoade themselves that thej love her, in order 
to yield to her a more noble obediencei and to conceal the 
slavish fear of a subject, under the semblance of knightly sub- 

Elizabeth was a woman of great genius. The lustre of hei 
reign evinces it. Yet, in a tragedy which represents the death 
of Maiy, Elizabeth can appear only as the rival who causes her 
prisoner to be assassinated ; and the crime which she conmiits 
is too atrocious not to efface all the good we might be dis- 
posed to say of her political genius. It might, perhaps, be con- 
sidered as a still further perfection in Schiller, to have had the 
ar( of rendering Elizabeth less odious, without diminishing our 
interest for Mary Stuart; for there is more real talent in the 
shades of contrast than in the extremes of opposition, and the 
principal figure itself gains by none of the figures on the dra- 
matic canvas being sacrificed to it. 

Leicester entreats Elizabeth to see Mary ; he proposes to 
her to stop in the middle of a hunting party, in the garden 
of Fotheringay Castle, and to permit Mary to walk there. 
Elizabeth consents, and the third act opens with the affecting 
joy of Mary in again breathing the free air, after nineteen 
years* imprisonment All the risks she runs have vanished 
from her eyes ; her nurse endeavors in vain .to recall them to 
her, to moderate her transports. Mary has forgotten all, in 
recovering the sight of the sun, and of nature. She feels 
again the happiness of childhood, at the view, new to her, of 
the flovrers, the trees, and the birds; and the ineffable impres- 
sion of those external wonders on one who has been long sepa^ 
rated from them, is painted in the intoxicating emotion of the 
unfortunate captive. The remembrance of France awakens her 
to delight, she charges the clouds which the north wind 
seems to impel towards that happy native land of her affeetioni 
—she charges them to bear to her friends her regrets and do- 
sires. ** Go," she says to them, ** go, you, my only mtumth . jmj| 
geral the free air is your inheritano^— "jou u% im^ ^Q&s^^i&sf 


jecU cf Elizabeth." * Sho perceiyes in the diitanea a fiflhenmi 
gaidbg a crazy boat, and ahready flatten henelf with the idaa 
of escaping. At the sight of the heatenai all thmga aeeai to 
reanimate her with hope. 

She 18 not jet informed that they hare permitted her to 
leare her prison, for the purpose of Eliaabeth'a meethig lur. 
She hears the music of the hont, and the pleeaaies of lur 
joath are retraced to her imagination as she listena to iL Shi 
would herself mount the fiery steed, and fly with the npditf 
of lightoing over vale and hill. The feeUng of happmeH is 
revived in her, without reason or motive, only becanae It ia >•• 
eossary that the heart should breathe again, and be 
reanimated on a sudden, at the approach of the greatest 
itios, oven as there is almost always a momentaij interral of 
amendment before the agony of death. 

They come to inform Mary that Elizabeth ia approeching^ 
She had wislicd for tliis interview, but as the moment drava 
near a shuddering runs through all her frame. Leicoater ac- 
companies Elizabeth : thus idl the passions of Marj an at 
once excited : sho commands herself for a time ; bat the arre* 
gant Elizabeth provokes her by her disdain, and the two ri- 
val queens end by alike abandoning themselves to the nratnal 
hatred which they experience. Elizabeth ropfoaehea Maij 
with her faults ; Mary recalls to her mind the suspieioDS oif 
Henry the Eighth against her mother, and what had been said 
of her illegitimate birth. This scene h singulariy fine, on this 
rery account — that their mutual rage makes tl^ two qoeeM 
transgress the bounds of. their natural dignity. Thij 

I Ths ptiMgo Is as follows : 

** Put Hooting olondt I yo motoori that tj I 
Conld I but with yon tall throogh the sky I 
Tondorly graot ths doar land of my yonth I 
Kors I am oaptlvs 1 opproaa'd by my foss, 
No othor than yon may oany my woss I 
Froo through ths othor yonr pathway is sstt, 
Ys own not tht powor of this ^yisal qnssal^ 

Ws sdopi tht vtralon of Joaaph M olUsh, Isq., whiflh hss biSil leijiii 
iDf Mr Mtt*s BUadsx4U\Rii|w-^i«. 


longer anj other than two woment rivals in Tcspect of beauty 
even more than of power ; they are no longer the one a lOTd- 
reign, and the other a prisoner ; and oven though the one pos- 
sesses the power of sending the other to the scaffold, the most 
beaatiful of the two, she who feels that she is most niade to 
please, enjoys even yet the pleasure of humbling the all-pow- 
erful Elizabeth in the eyes of Leicester, in the eyes of the lover, 
who is so dear to them both. 

Another circumstance that adds greatly to the effect of this 
situation, is the fear that we experience for Maiy at every re- 
sentful phrase that escapes her ; and when she abandons her- 
self to ali her fury, her injurious speeches, the consequences of 
which we know to be irreparable, make us tremble, as if we 
already witnessed her death. 

The emissaries of the Catholic party form the design of assas- 
dnating Elizabeth on her return to London. Talbot, the most 
virtuous of the queen's friends, disarms the assassin who at- 
tempts to stab her, and the people ciy out aloud for the blood 
of Mary. It is an admirable scene, in which the Chancellor 
Burleigh presses Elizabeth to sign the death-warrant of Mary, 
while Talbot, who has just saved the life of his sovereigni 
throws himself at her feet to implore her to pardon her enemy : 

'"That God, whose potent hand hath thrice p r e s erv e d thee, 
Who lent my aged, feeble arm the strength 
To overcome the madman : — he deserres 
Thy confidence. I will not raise the voice 
Of justice now, for now is not the time ; 
Thoa canst not hear it in this storm of pasdon. 
Yet listen but to this ! Thoa tremblest now 
Before this living Mary— tremble rather 
Before the morder'd, the beheaded Mary. 
She will arise, and quit her grave, will range 
A fiend of discord, an avenging ghost, 
Around thy realm, and turn thy peoj^'s hearts 
From their allegiance. For as yet the Biitoos 
Hate her, because they fear ber ; but most surely 
Will they avenge her, when she is no mots. 
They will no more behold the enemy 
or tbdr belief, th^wiU but sea UkbM . .. 

IHX D&A1CA8 or gCTim.T>ML Ml 

Hie mnch-lamented ime of thdr Uagi 

A lacrifico to Jealousj and hate. 

Then quick] j shalt thou mo tho niddeii cCam« 

When thou host done the bloodj dood ; tlian go 

Through London, sook thy people, whidi tUl Bflftr 

Around thee swann'd delighted ; tho« ibalt m« 

Another England, and another people ; 

For then no more the godlike dignity 

Of Justice, which subdued thj tubjecta' hearti^ 

Will beam around thee. Fear, the dread allf 

Of tjrannji will ihudd'ring march before thaa^ 

And make a wildemeti in everj streei— 

The last, extremest crime thou hast rmmnltled- 

What head is nfe, if the anointed fidir' 

The answer o! Elizabeth to this diacooxBe is a qpeadi of it- 
markable address ; a man in a simflar sitoationiroiild eertaiD^ 
have employed falsehood to palliate injnstiee ; bat Wt^miMA 
does more, she wishes to excite intoresti eren in 
herself to her revenge; she wonld even, if poHiUfl^ 
compassion in perpetrating the most barbarous aetioii. 8be 
has the spirit of a sanguinary coqnetiy, if we maj be aDowvd 
the expression, and the character of the woman diaeoftn ft» 
idf through that of the tyrant: 

^ Ah I Shrewsbury, jou saved m j life, joa tum'd 
The murd'rous steel aside ; why let you not 
The dagger take its course f then all these bceils 
Would have been ended ; then« released from dosbi^ 
And free from blame, I should be now at rest 
In m J still, peaceful grave. In verj sooth, 
Fm wearj of mj life, and of m j crown. . 
If HeaVn decree that one of us two queens 
Must perish, to secure the other's life— 
And sure it must be so— why should not I 
B^ she who yields f Hj people must decide ; 
I give them back the sovereignty thej gava 
God is my witness, that I have not lived 
For my own sake, but for m j people's weliknb 
Kthej expect from this fislse, fawning Stnsii^ 
Tho younger sovereign, more hiqypj days, 
I will descend with pleasure from the thiOQS^ 

894 ifAnAinf BB STAXL'b OEBICAHT. 

Where onoe I spent m j muu&bltioiif yootli ; 
Where, fiur removed from all the Tudties 
Of earthly power, I fotmd within myself 
Trne majesty. lam not made to mle— 
A roler should be made of sterner stnif : 
My heart is soft and tender. I hare gorem'dy 
These many years, this kingdom happily, 
Bat then I only needed to make happy : 
Now comes my first important regal duty, 
And now I feel how weak a thing I am." 

At this sentence, Burleigh interrapts Elixabeth, and re- 
proaches her for all that she desires to be reproached with,— 
her meekness, her indulgence, her compassion ; he assumes the 
appearance of courage, in demanding at his sovereign with 
▼ehemence, that which she secretlj desires more than himself 
Bough flattery generally succeeds better than obsequious flat- 
tery ; and it is well for courtiers when they are able to giye 
themselves the appearance of being hurried on, at the moment 
when they most deeply reflect upon what they are saying. 
Ellzabeih signs the warrant; and, left alone with her private 
secretary, the woman's timidity, which mixes itself with the 
perseverance of despotism, makes her desire this inferior per- 
sonage to take upon himself the responsibility of the action 
which she is committing. He requires a positive order for 
sending the warrant, which she refuses, repeating that he must 
do his duty. She leaves this unfortunate man in a frightful 
state of uncertainty, out of which he is delivered by the chan- 
cellor snatching from him the paper, which Elizabeth has left 
in his hands. 

Leicester finds himself entangled by the friends of the Queen 
of Scotiand, who have been imploring his assistance to save 
her. He discovers that he has been accused to Elizabeth, and 
takes on a sudden the shocking resolution of abandoning Mary, 
and betraying to the Queen of England, with impudent artifice, 
a part of the secrets which he owes to the confidence of his 
imfortnnato friend. Notwithstanding all these unworthy sacri- 
fices, he only half succeeds in satisfying Elizabeth : she re- 
quires him to lead Uaiy to the scaffold hmuMU^'m fsit&»t \i^ 

THB D&A1CA8 OF il0lfnj.«. S9S 

proTO that he does not love her. Hie woman*! jealoiiqrt Alt 
dieooven itself in the panishment which Hiiabath ^***— "^"^ 
as a monarch, ought to inspire Leicester with the moat pn^ 
found hatred for her. The queen cansea him to tremble^ who^ 
hj the kwe of nature, should hare been her master ; aad this 
singular contrast is productive of a very enginel wtnatioe. 
But nothing is equal to the fifth act It was at Weimar thsl 
I was present at the representation of Uaiy Stuart^ and I ea»- 
not even yet remember, without deep emotion^ the eSaet of 
the concluding scenes. 

At first, we see enter Haiy's female attendants^ dressed ia 
mourning, and in profound sorrow. The old nonei the most 
afflicted of all, brings in her royal jewels, which she haa ctdsr- 
ed her to collect together, that she may distribute tfaem among 
her women. The governor of the prison, followed by many 
of his servants, dressed in black also, as well aa himself, fiB 
the stage with mourning. Melvil, formerly a gentleman ia 
Mary's court, arrives firom Rome at this moment. Anns^ 
the queen's nurse^ receives him with joy. She painta to him 
the courage of Mary, who, all at once resigned to her fiite^ is 
no longer occupied by the concerns of her soul, and ia only 
afflicted at not havbg been able to obtain a priest of her ewm 
religion, to receive firom him the absolution of her ains^ and the 
holy communion. 

The nurse relates how, during the night, the queen and she 
had heard the sound of reiterated blows ; and both hoped that 
it arose fironc their friends endeavoring to effeot her deliverance ; 
but that at last they had discovered the noise to proeeed 
the workmen, who were erecting the scaffold in the hall 
reath. Melvil inquires how Maiy supported this terrible die* 
covery; and Anne informs him, that her severest trial waa that 
of learning the treason dfthe Earl of Leicester; but tbat^ after 
undergoing this shock, she had recovered the oomposora and 
the dignity of a queen. Mary's women come ui and go ont| 
to execute their mistress's orders. One of them brings a eaf 
of whie, which Maiy has called for, to enable her to walk with 
a firmer stop to the scaffold. Another eomea tetterii^ iqpen 


tho itago, having bccUi through tho door of tho h«ll| whoro tho 
oxocution is to toko place, tho walk hung with hUnckf tho loaf- 
fold, tho block, and tiio axo, Tho foar of tho ipoctator, always 
increasing, is Already near its height, when Mary appears in all 
the magnificence of royal ornament, alone clad in white in the 
midst of her monming attendants, with a cmeifiz in her hand, 
a crown on her head, and already irradiated with the celestial 
pardon which her misfortunes have obtabed for her. llaiy 
comforts her women, whose sobs afieet her with lively emo- 

^WhjrthcM complaints f Whjr weep yet 7e diovld rslhir 
Bcjolco with me, that now at length, the end 
Of my long woe approaches ; that mj shsekiss 
Fall off, mj prison opens, and 017 soul 
Dollghtod, mounts on soraph's wings, and sssks 
Tho land of oTcrloRtlng libortj. 
When I was ofler'd np to the oppression 
Of m J prond cncm j, was forced to suffer 
Ignoble iauntg, and insalts most unfitting 
A free and lov'rolgn queen, then was the time 
To weep for mo ; but, as an eamcit friend, 
Beneficent and hcaliug Death approoches. 
All the indignities which I have suffcr'd 
On earth, are cover'd by his sable wings. 
The most degraded criminal's ennobled 
Bj his lost sufferings, bj his final exit ; 
I feel again the crown upon mj brows. 
And dignity possess my swelling soul.* 

Maiy perceives Melvil, and rejoices at seeing him in this 
■olenm moment: she questions him about her kindred in 
France, about her ancient servants, and charges him with her 
last adieu to all that was dear to her: 

'* Bear then, sir, my blesring 
To the most ChrisUan king, my royal hrotksr, 
And the whole royal family of Tninoe. 
I bless the Cardinal, my honor'd undo, 
And also Henry Ouise, my noble cousin. 
I bless the holy &ther, the vioegerent 
Of Christ on earth, who will, I trust, bless me. 
I bless the King of fi^Mdn, who nobly eObr'd 


Himself M m J deliy'ior^ mf areBgir. 
Tho7 are ranombor'd in mf will l Z liopt 
That Uiojr will not dotplto, how poor wM^m 
Thojr bo, tho protonti ola hoori whioh low 

Ifaij fhon turn aside to hor lonraata and aaya to 

** I have boquoaihod joa to nj rojal bcolliir 
Of Franoo; ho will protoct joa, ho wtU giTO 
Another oountrfi and a better homo ; 
And if my lant desire hoTO anj weight, 
Btaj not in England ; let no hanghtjr Mtoa 
Olttt his proud heart with jour ealamitlea, 
Kor soo those in the dost, who onoo wore 
Bwcar bj this image of our sofTring Loid, 
To leaTO this fiitsl land when Fm no 

** I swear obedlonoe, in the name of alL" 

The quoon diatribatos hor jowela among her woumb; 
nothing can bo moro affocting than the dotaila inlo wUeh ahe 
enters respecting the cluiractora of each of thoni| and the adrioe 
which she gives them for their futore condnot She parties* 
larlj displays her generosity towards one, whose hnabiuid had 
been a teaitor, in formerly accusing Mary herself befi)ce 
both. She tries to console her for this calamityy and to 
to her that she retains no resentment on accoont of it 

** The worth of gold, my Anna, charms not thes ; 
Nor the magnificence of predoos stones : 
Mj memorj, I know, will be to thee 
The dearest Jewel ; take this handkerehl«( 
I work'd it for thee, in the hours of sorrow. 
With my own hands, and mj hot seeding 
Are woTcn in the texture : yon will Und 
My eyes with this, when it is time: this last 
Bad senrice I would wish but from my Anna. 
Gome all, and now reoeifo my last iluewell. 
[Sh§ dntehafirtk hw AoMb, tit§ Woma, 
/oB Bucumody at kit fid, md hm hw 
Haig'rei, iiMrewell— my Alice, Cue thee wsU ; 
Thanks, Bmgoyn, for thy honest fidthftil 
Thy lips are hot, my Oortmdo : IhaTobetn 
Mncfa haledt yet hare beta as araoh balofed. 


Haj A deflerring husband bless mj Gcrtnide, 
For ibis warm glowing heart is form*d for lore. 
Bertha, th j choice is better, thou hadst rather 
Become the chaste and pious bride of HeaVn ; — 
Oh 1 haste thee to fulfil thj tows ; the goods 
Of earth are all deceitful ;— thou mayst learn 
This lesson from thjr qoeen. No more; fiurewell« 
Farewell, fitfowell, mj friends, CsrewsU forerer." 

Maiy remains alone with Helvi!, and then bqpns a scenei 
the effect of which is yery grand| howeyer it maj be open to 
censure in many respects. The only grief that remains to 
Maiy, after she had proyided for all her worldly caresi arisea 
from her not being able to obtain a priest of her own religion 
to assist at her last moments. Melyily after receiying the 
secret of her pions sorrows, informs her that he has been at 
Bome, that he has there taken orders that he might acquire 
the right of absolving and comforting her : he nncoyers hia 
head, to show her the holy tonsure, and takes out of his boaom 
a wafer, which the Pope himself had blessed for her : 

** Is then a hcav'nlj happiness prepared 
To cheer me on tlie Tcry Terge of death? 
As an immortal one on golden clouds 
Descends, as once the angel fh>m on high, 
BcllTer'd the Apostle from his fetters :— 
He scorns all bars, ho scorns the soldier's sword, 
He stops undAuntod through the bolted portals, 
And fills tbe dungeon with his native glory ; 
llius here the mciMengor of HeaVn appears, 
When ev'ry earthly champion had deceived me. 
And you, my servant once, are now the servant 
Of the Most High, and his immortal ward 1 
As before me your knees were wont to bend. 
Before you humbled, now I kiss the dust." 

The beautiful, the royal Uary, throws herself at Helvil^s 
fiset; and her subject, kvested with all the dignity of the 
Church, suffer! her to remain in that situation, while he ex* 
aminea her. 

(It must not be forgotten, that MelyU himself belieyed 
Hmj guilty of fha laft plot against tha lifii of SliulM]^ \ 

TBB D&A1CA8 OF BCfnT.T,1IE, i99 

thonld add, tliat the following icene thonld only be>Hid; ttd 
tliAti on mott of the German itagesi thej aopprwi Urn aoiof 
oommnnion in tho representation of thia tngedj.) 

HiLTiL (wukm§ OPT kit ih§ tjfn ^A$ crtMJ 

^ Hear, liary Qaeeo of SooUand :— In tlie 
Of God the Vathor, Son, and Hdlj Oboil» 
BMt thou examined carefoUj thy heeriy 
8weer*et thou, art then prepared in thy 
To ipeik the tmth befoie the Qod of tmth f 


^ Befine my God and thee, my heart Uie 

«• What oallf thee to the preMnoe el the Higbaalf 


' I hombly do acknowledge to haTt err^d 
Host grierootly. I tremble to approaohi 
Sallied with lin, the Ood el pority. 


M Declare the tin which weight ao heaTily 
Upon thy c o ni d e n o e , tlnoo thy last 


<<My heart waa flll'd with th^nghta of enTlona 
And Tengcance took poaicaaion of my boaMoi. 
I hope forgiveneaa of my alna fkom CMt 
Tet ooold I not forgive my enemy. 


^Bepent'atthonoftheainr Art thon, In aoolh, 
Beaolved to leaTe thia world at pcaoe with aUf 


* Aaimely aa Z wiah the joya eC heaV B. 


«Whal othtt aim hath aim*d tky iMrt aiiltfllhear 






^Ahl not aloootlirougb hate; through lawlMi loft 
EaT« I tUll more Ahmod the ■OT«rolgn good. 
Uf bMurt WM Tainlj tnm'd towards tho miB, 
Who left no in miifortnne, who deceiTod 

MBepeni'tithonofiheslnr And heel tho« tva'd 
Thy heerty from thii idoUtry, to Qod t 


*It WM the htxdeet trial I haTt paa'd ; 
Ihlf last of earthl J bonds Is torn asnnte^ 


* What other sin disturbs thj gnllty oonsckaeet 


* A bloody orime, Indeed el ancient date, 

And long ago confon'd ; yet with new terrocs 
It now attacks me, black and grisly steps 
Across my path, and shuts the gates of hear'n : 
By my connivance foil the king, my husband— 
I gave my hand and heart to a seducer-* 
By rigid penance I have made atonement ; 
Yet In my soul the worm Is gnawing stUL 


^ Has then thy heart no other acouiatlon, 
Which hath not been confoas'd and wadi'd away? 


^ All you have heard, with which my heart Is ohaiged 


* Think on the presence of Omnlsdenoe ; 

Think on the punishments, with which the Ohuieli 
Threatens Imperfect and reserved confession I 
This Is the sin to everlasting death, 
For this Is sinning 'gainst his Holy Splrii. 


*8o may eternal grace with vlotoiy 
Crown ny last eontsiti as Z witttogly 
HaTS nothlag hld^ 










^'Howf WUi thon tlMB ooBOHa 
na orima from God, for which thon aii aoodaan* A f 
Tlioa tall'it ma nothing of tha duMt thorn hftdil 
In Bahingtoa and FMrry'i Mood/ tfmaon I 
Thou dlMt for thli a tamponl daalh ; telUi 
WUt thon loo dla tha ararhtttlnf daalhf 


*I am proparod to maat otarnlty; 
Within tha nanow Umlta of an hoar, 
X ahall appear befora mj Jndga'a throaa i 
Bat, I rqpaal It, mj oonfaaaion'a andad. 


^ Conilder wall— tha heart la a daoalrar. 
Thou hast perhapa, with tHj aqnlTOoatkn^ 
The liortf arolded whieh woold maka thaa goUltf^ 
Although th/ will was party to tha orima. 
Bemambar, that no Jogglar'a trloka can bllad 
Tha ^a of flra whloh darta throngh av*!/ hiwil 


^ 'TU tme, that I haro oall'd upon aU priaeaa 
To free me firom unworthy ohalna ; yat 'tia 
Aa tme, that neither by Intent or daadt 
Eara I attempted my qppremor'B llliB. 

^ Tour aeoretariea then hare Vltneaa'd fldaily. 


«• It la, aa I hare laid ;— what th«y hare wltnaairA 
The Lord will Judge. 


•< Thon monnt'at then, aalldUd 
Of thy own Innoeanoa, the ittkal Boaflbldf 


' God folEnB me In merqr to atona^ 




HiLTZL (makifi0 over her tkt mgm ifikicnm)^ 

^Qf^ then, and expiate them all \tj death ; 
SioJL a deroted Tictim on the altar, 
Thus shall thy blood atone the blood thou'it wffilL 
Tnm, female frailty were derired th j iiuiltii 
Jhtt from the weakness of mortality^ 
The spotless spirit seeks the blest abodes. 
Kow then, bj the authority which Ood 
Hath mito me committed, I abeolTO thee 
From all thj sins— be as thy iaith thy welfiae I 

BeoeiTe the body which for thee was offer'd — 

[Bt takm Uii c^ wkiA tUmda igwii tkt tM^ unmenim U 
wUh tSeiU jfntjfir, then prmnit U io her; ilU kmitim Is 

BeceiTO the blood, which for thy sins was shed— 
Beceire it^'tis allow'd thee by the F6pe, 
To ezerdse in death the highest office 
Of kings, the holy office of the priesthood. 

And as thon now in this his earthly body 
Hast held with Ood mysterious communion, 
So mayst thou henceforth, in his realm of Joy, 
Where sin no more exists, nor tears of woe, 
A fair transfigored spirit. Join thyself 
FneTer with the Oodhead, and forerer. 

[Btmttdowntkicigf; hmnngmnoi»ifhi€99i N hkhtai,mid 
poa 19 ike door; Mary toumu in miad rftaorfsa, en Ur 


MiLTiL (rdummg). 

" A painfol conflict Is in store for thee ; 
Feel'st thou within thee strength enough to 
Each impulse of malignity and hate? 


*X fear not a relapse. IhaTetoOod 
Befoted both my hatred, and my kv«. 


* Well, then, prepare thee to reoelTe my Lords 
OfLrfositsraiidofBatklglL ThiymlMM* 


Sosra Vm. 

£imoEgna. ftmam$m At 
Atiiyw; BumuaoM, who 

** I oome, my Lidj Stiuffi, to xeoalTt 
Yoor iMt ^<ft"imiMia and wiih«. 


''ThAoki, my kid. 


'^ It It ilia pleanm of m J royil mlttTMi^ 
Hut nothing reuonablo be donitd jo«. 


''Hywill, myloidfdedaretm/lAitdfliirMi 
Tto placed it in the hand of Sir Amiat, 
And hmnbly beg, that it may be ftdfiU'd. 

** Ton may rely on thiii 


«'Ibeg that all 
Hy lenranta immoleited may return 
To France, or Scotland, at their wlahfli lead. 


^ It shall be at yon wiah. 


'* And linoe my bo4y 
Ib not to rest in ooniecrated gioond, 
I pray yon tnfbr thii my iaithftil ier?ani 
To bear my heart to France, to my ra l a H o ne 
Alaal 'twaa erer there. 




«" Unto her H^^eaty 


8M ifAnAine db BTAXL's QEBHAHT. 

Tell her, th*t from the bottom of mj hewt 

I pardoD her m j death : most hmnbl j too 

I cimTe her to forgiTO me for the peiiioii 

With which I ipolLe to her. l£aj Qod pr e i a ffo hm. 

And bless her with a long and prosp'rooi idgB 1 


^8ay, do yon still adhere to your resolfo, 
And still refuse asriifsDoe firom the Deaa? 


^Mj loidy Fto made my peace with God. 

[TbPAVLK. Good sir, 
I haTO imwittingl J caused yon much socfowt— 
Bereft yon of your age's only stay. 
Oh, lei me hope yoa do not hate my namt. 

Pavut (grnug her hit ktmi), 
*Tha Loid be with yoa 1 go your way ia peaoe. 

Soxvx IX. 

[AnrA S^nniiDT, md ths ether womm tf thi Qumr, tnmd 
into the nom^ with markt qf homr, l%t BaaaanfoOmH 
thm,m white Mi^r in hit hold ;hthmd an amn^thrm^tht 
open dooFtf nsi under ttrmt* 


** What ails thee, Anna? Yes— my hoar is 
The Sheriff comes to lead me to my iate» 
And part we most— farewell 1 


" We will not leare thee^ 
Wa will not part from thee. 

Habt (to fAxuni^ 

" Ton, worthy sir, 
And my dear faithfal Anna, shall attend ma 
In my last moments. I am sore, my lord 
Will not refoae my heartjthis consolation, 


* Ibr this I haTe DO warrant. 




Bespeet my Mz; who iluill attend bm dM^ 
And yield me tlie latt eerrioeT— «im it 
Cen be my lister's pleesnre, that In m* 
My sex should be faisnlted ; thit these msBf 
With their rode hands, should toooh my fOyal 


** 'TIs order'd that no woman shall asowd 
The scaffold steps with yon ; their team and 


''She shall not weep, my lord, she shall not 
I answer for my Anna's resolution ; 
Be mercifal ; diTide me not so soon 
Fnm my tme foster-mother, from my friend. 
She bore me on her arms into this lifo, 
Let her then gently lead me to my death. 

Pavut (19 BOBmOH). 


« Yield to her wishes. i 

BuunoH. *^ . 

'•Be it so. 


HaTe nothing in this world to wish for mors. 

[8hi tahm thi emqfix^ and Ititm M. 
HyGodl my Comforter I my blest Bedeemer I 
As once thy arms were stretoh'd upon the croas^ 
Let them be now extended to reoeiTO me 1 

[Ske tumt round to go^idlkt mum mommd JUr lyw fiU 
LnovrxB, «oAo, on h» going, dartt Murfis 
ki$ eyet Umardthar: id ihii tigkl Habt JrmMmf 
faU heTf the it cftoirf (o/oK, whm Lbghri 
and rteei9et her in Mt mmt ; thtngardtUm/kt 
tanutUjff and m tUmet; ht tamti mtgperi kit imk»f 
length the tpeakt. 
Ton keep your word, my Lord of Leicester : for 
Ton promised me your arm to lead me forth 
From prison, and yon lend it to me now. 
At length the wish'd for day is come, and what 
Was oft the object of my fondest dreams 
Is now acoomplish'd : and the Earl of Leicester^ 
The long-expected, the long^wish'd for friendt 
AtrpesntftUnc^LialMiadngayOMtlt. . 


I lee him sUnding in my priBoa ; all 
It read J for the Joumej ; all the gates 
Stand open, and at length I croes the threshold, 
Conducted bj his hand ; and now I leaTO 
These dismal walls behind me, and foreTer. 
All is fulfill'd, and yon hare sared your honor. 

Yes, Leicester ; not for liberty alone 
I wish'd to be indebted to yonr hands. 
Yon should hare made me bless that liberty. 
Led by yonr hand, and happy in yonr lore, 
I hoped once more to taste the joys of life. 
Yes ; now that Fm prepared from all the world 
To part, and to become a happy spirit. 
Whom earthly inclinations tempt no more, 
Kow, Leicester, I may yentare to confess 
Withont a blosh, the frailty I hare conqner'd— 
Farewell, my lord ; and, if yon can, be happy 1 
To woo two qneens has been yonr daring aim ; 
You hare disdain'd a tender, loTing heart ; 
Betray'd it, in the hope to win a prond one : 
Kneel at the feet of Queen Elisabeth I 
May your reward not prore your punishment 
Farewell ! I now haTO nothing more on earth." 

Leicester remains alone after the departure of Mary, the 
feeling of despair and shame tliat overwhelms him can hardly 
be expressed ; ho listens, ho hears all that is passing in the 
hall of ezecntion, and, when the business is ended, he &lla 
senseless on the ground. We are afterwards told that he is 
gone to Fkance, and the grief of Elizabeth at the loss of her 
lover is the beginning of her punishment* 

I shall make some observations on this imperfect analjsb of 
a piece, in which the charm of the verse adds greatly to its 
other merits. I hardly know if they would permit, in Franca, 
an entire act on one decisive situation; but that repose of 
grie^ which springs from the very privation of hope, produces 
the truest and the most profound emotions. This solemn re- 
pose permits the spectator, as well as the victim, to descend 
into himself^ and feel all that misery reveals to him. 

The scene of the confession, and above all, that of the mql« 
mnnioii, wonld be condemned tlWg^lGbttt^ taaii ^^i^^ 


bnt it 11 certiinly not for want of effect that it would bo 
Bored : the pathetic nerer teaches the heart more nearly than 
when founded on the national religion. The moat Gathclio 
country in Eorope, Spain, and its most religions poeti Oalderon, 
who had himself entered into the ecclesiastical ordoTi hare ad- 
mitted as subjects for the stage, the ceremonies of Quistimnitj. 

It seems to me that, without being at all wanting in the Ter- 
ence which we owe to the Christian religion, we may suffer it 
to enter into poetry and the fine arts, into all that eloTatea the 
soul, and embellishes life. To exclude it fiom these, is to imi- 
tate children who think they can do nothing hot what is aad 
and solemn in their fathers house. There is a idigioii in 
erery thing that occasions a dismterested emotion of the mind; 
poetay, lore, nature, and the DiTinity itself are connected to- 
gether in the heart, whaterer efforts we may make to separate 
them; and, if genius is prohibited from sounding all theae 
strings at once, the full harmony ct the soul will nerer be heard. 

This yery Mary whom France beheld so brilliant, and Bki- 
gland so unhappy, has been the subject ct a thousand different 
poems, celebrating her charms and her misfortunes. Hislorj 
has painted her as sufficiently light; Schiller has thrown more 
of the serious into her character, and the period at wbieli he 
brings her forward may well account for the change. Twentj 
years of imprisonment, eren twenty years of existence, in what- 
ever manner they hare been spent, are generally a serere lessen. 

The adieu of Mary to the Earl of Leicester appears to me 
to be one of the finest situations to be met with on the stage. 
There is some sweetness for her in that trying moment She 
has a compassion for Leicester, all guilty as he is; she fcda 
what a remembrance she bequeathes to him, and this rengeanee 
of the heart is not prohibited. In short, at the moment ef 
death, of a death, the consequence of his refusal to sare her, 
she again says to him that she loTCS him; and if any thing 
can console the mind nnder the terrible separation to which 
we are doomed by death, it is the solemnity which itgirea to 
our parting words: no end» no hope, can mingle with 
and the purest truth is exhaled from our bosoms with liCk 




SoHiLLBR, in * copy of rencs fbll of gracoi reproachei the 
French wiih ingratitude towards Joan of Arc. One of the 
noblest epochs of hUtoiji that in which France, and her kingi 
Charles the Soventhi were rescued from the yoke of foreign- 
ers, has never yet been celebrated by any writer worthy of 
effacing the remembrance of Voltaire's poem ; and it is a stran- 
ger that has attempted to re-establish the glory of a French 
heroine, of a heroine whose unhappy fate might interest us in 
her favor, even though her exploits did not excite our just en- 
thusiasm. Shakspcaro could not judge of Joan of Are but 
with the partiality of an Englishman ; yet even he represents 
her, in his historical play of Ilcnry the Sixth, as having been 
at first inspired by heaven, and subsequently corrupted by the 
demon of ambition. Thus, the French only have suffered her 
memory to be dishonored. It is a great fault of our nation, to 
be incapable of resisting the ridiculous, when presented to us 
under a striking form. Yet, is there so much room in the 
world for the serious and the gay together, that we might im- 
pose it upon ourselves as a law, never to trifle with what is 
worthy of our veneration, and yet lose nothing, by doing S0| 
of the freedom of pleasantry. 

The subject of Joan of Are partaking at once of the his- 
torical and the marvellous, Schiller has intermingled in his 
play, pieces of lyrical poetry, and the mixture produces a fine 
effect, even in representation. We have hardly any thing in 
the French language, except the Monologue of Polyeucte, and 
the Choruses of Athalie and Esther, that can give us any idea 

'ThsplayofBohmsrlssBtMsdUnitoirf^fWiawt, Ed. . 


of it. Dnunittio poetry i> iDBoparablo from tlio ntafttion 
which it ii required to paint; it i> rocitttioQ in ution, tlit 
conflict of man with fate. Lyricsl pootty if ftlmoat kIwaji 
■uitcd to religious lubjocta ; it »!»» tho •on) towards koAves ; 
it cxprcssM I know not what of loblimo rcsignttion, vhich 
oftoD seizes on ui in tho midst of tbo most tamultoout puaionii 
and doUvere iu from our pcrtonal disquiotudci, to give lu for 
VI instant tho taste of divine peace. 

No doubt we must take care that the progrcsuro ftdrkneo 
of the interest shall not Buffer by it ; but the end of dramatic 
art is cot simp!/ to inform us whcthor the hero ia killod, or 
vrhother he marries : tho principal object of tho eveate repn- 
scntcd, is to acrvo to develop acntiment* and characten. The 
poet is in tho right, therefore, aometimcs to suspend the Ktioa 
of tho thoatro, to make us listen to the heavenly rauaic of ths 
eoul, Wo may abstract ourselves in art, as in life, and toar 
for n moment abovo all that passes within us and around us. 

Tho historical epoch at which Joon of Arc oxistod, is peca- 
linrly proper to display Iho French character in all its beauty, 
when an unalterable fnilh, an unbounded reverence for women, 
an almost imprudent generosity in war, signalized this nation 
throughout Europe. 

Wo must picture to ourselves a young girl of uxteen, of ft 
majCBtic form, but with still infantine features, a doHcato ex- 
terior, and without any strength but that which comes to her 
from on high; inspired by religion, poetical in her actiona, 
poetical also in her speech, when animated by tho divine spirit ; 
showing in her discourses, sometimes on admirable genius, at 
others an absolute ignorance of all that heaven has not reveal- 
ed to her. It is thus that Schiller has conceived the part of 
Joan of Arc. He first shows her at Yaucouleurs, in the ruatio 
habitation of her father, where she hoars of tho misfortune* of 
Franco, and is inflamed by tbo recital. Her aged father blames 
her aadness, her though tfulncss, her enthusiasm. Uoaccoa- 
tomod to penetrate tho secret of what ia exUaordinatT', he 
th-jilu that there ia evil in all that is not habitual to him. A 
DonnbTman bringa in » helmet, which a gipsey had pot into 



his handfl in * vory mjstorious manner. Joan of Arc snatchoA 
it from him, and places it on her own head, while her fiunilj 
oontetnplato with astonishment the expression of her eyea. 

She prophecies the triumph of France, and the defeat of her 
iinemiea. A peasant, an uprit forty tells her that there are no 
longer any miracles in the world. She exclaims : 

** Yes, there shall yet he one : a snow-white dore 
Shall fly, and, with the eagle's holdness, tear 
The birds of prey which rend her iktherland. 
She shall o'erthrow this haughty Burgondy, 
Betrayer of the kingdom ; Talbot, too, 
The hundred-handed, hearen-defying soonige ; 
This Sal'sbury, who Tiolates oar lanes, 
And all these island robbers shall she driTe 
Before her like a flock of timid lambs. 
The Lord will be with her, the God of batfle ; 
A weak and trembling creature he will choose, 
And through a tender maid proclaim his power. 
For He tt the Almighty !"• 

The sisters of Joan of Arc retire to a distance, and her 
father orders her to busy herself in her rural labors, and re- 
mam a stranger to those great events with which poor shep- 
herds have nothing to do. He goes out, Joan of Arc remaina 
alone : about to depart forever from the abode of her in&neyt 
a fooling of regret seizes her, and she says : 

" Farewell, ye mountains, ye belored glades, 
Ye lone and peaceful ralloys, faro ye well I 
Through you Johanna nerer more may stray 1 
For aye, Johanna bids you now farewell. 
Ye meads which I hare water'd, and ye trees 
Which I have planted, still in beauty bloom 1 
Farewell, ye grottoes, and ye crystal springs I 
Sweet echo, vocal spirit of the vale. 
Who sang'st responsive to my simple strain, 
Johanna goes, and ne'er returns again. 


Ye scenes where all my tranquil joys I knew. 
Forever now I leave you fiur behind 1 

> This, snd other quotations firom the MM ^ Mmm#, we give in the 
iTMslsftioB of Kiss Anna Swaawiek, flrom Bern's Standard Iihtixi*<--U>« 


■l«l »M Mais Vr" ■''P 

813 ifAmme db BTAXl's OKBHAHT. 

contented himself with the hare rocitali he would have de- 
priTed it of the movement and impulse which transport the 
spectator into that frame of mind which is demanded by the 
wonders he is obliged to believe. 

The play of Joan of Are proceeds uniformly, according to 
the history, to the period of the coronation at Rheims. The 
character of Agnes Sorol is painted with elevation and deli- 
cacy, and adds effect to the purity of Joan of Arc; for all the 
endowments of this world vanish by the side of virtues truly 
religious. There is a third female character, that of Isabel of 
Bavaria, which it might be well to suppress altogether; it is 
gross, and the contrast is much too strong to produce any 
effect* Joan of Arc is rightly opposed to Agnes Sorel, a heav- 
enly love to that which is earthly ; but hatred and perversity 
in a woman are beneath the dignity of art, which degrades 
itself in painting them. 

ShakApoaro gave the idea of the scene in which Joan of Aro 
brings back tlio Duke of Burgundy to the fealty he owes his 
king; but Schiller has executed it in an admirable manner. 
The Maid of Orleans wishes to revive in the duke's soul thai 
attachment to France which was then so powerful in the minds 
of all the generous inhabitants of that noble country. 

** What woYildst then, Dargundy f Who is the foe 
Whom eagerly thy murderous glances seek f 

at prince In, like tbyaolf, a son of France,^ 
8 hero Is thy countryman, thy friend ; 
I am a daughter of thy fatherland. 
We all, whom thou art eager to destroy, 
Aro of thy friends ; our longing arms prepare 
To clasp, our bonding knees to honor thee. 
Our sword 'gainst thee is pointless, and that Cios 
E'en in a hostile helm is dear to us, 
For there we trace the features of our king." 

Tlie Duke of Buigundy rejects the fnppliealioBa <tf JoM |l; 
Are, learing her supernatural sednetioii. SliOia|at. 

*' Tis not impertoos neessai^ 
Whioh throws us at thy foei W«daia(i 


Ai nppIUnU Man thco. Look nroond I 
Tho Eiigllah lonU txti lorel with the ground, 
And kll tko Hold It covoT'd with your ilaln. 
Euk I tli« war-tnimpota or llio Franch nMvad 1 
Qod hftth licddcd— oun tbo victory I 
Our new-cull'd laurel garland with our friend 
Wo Ua would ihnro. Come, nohlo foglUT0 1 
Oh oona whoro Justice and whero victor? dwall I 
Eren I, tho mctscnfcor o( HoaTon, ■itcnd 
A llcter'i hand to tlico. I fain would mto 
And draw thco ovor to oni rlghlooui mom I 
Emvod hull) duclnrod for Franco I Angollo pow«% 
Unsean by tlicc, do buttle for our kins '■ 
With IUI«s ara the holy odm odora'd. 
Fnt« u thU radiant bonnor It our cnuM ; 
Ila blcMod aymbol li the Qucon of HMm. 


'■ Fftlfloliood'a rulldcloiii wordi iiro full of fftJIo, 
Dut licri nro pure nnd nhnplo oil a child' ■• 
Ifevll n[>lrlU borrow thin dlfenInD, 
Tlioy copy Innocence trliimpli.intly. 
I'll hcnr no mora. To arma, Dunol* 1 tounul 
Mine car, I tccl, li weaker tlian mine arm. 

Jon A MM A. 
" Tou call me nn cnchnntrcas, and nccuae 
Of hellish arU. Is It Iho work of IIcll 
To heal dlEsennlon. nnd to Coxtcr peace t 
Comes holy concord from (ho depths bolow f 
Efny, what Is holy, Innocent, and good, 
If not to combnt fot our fnthorlnnd f 
Since when hntlt nature been ao self-o[iposed, 
Tlint RcFvvcu forrokea the Just and righteous ouiM, 
Wliila ndl protects It T If my words nra true. 
Whence could I draw thoin but from HonTenaboref 
Who over sought me inmy nhopherd-walks, 
To teach tho humble maid affLdri of state f 
I no'er have stood with prlncca, to thsao lipi 
Unknown the art* of cloquonco. Yet now, 
Wbea I have need of It to touch thy heart, 

Hia fftU of tnc^tN »n& 1^ dmn&iA'^i^sv 
Vol. I^U 


lie dear] J spread before mj diildish mind, 
£ And words of thunder issue from mj month." 

^ At these words, the Doke of Bmgandj ii mored, is tnmb- 
led. Joan of Arc perceives it, and ezdaima : 

'* He weeps— he's conquer'd, he is ours once more 1" 

H The French bend their swords and colors before him. Charles 

lH fhe Serenih appears, and the Dnke of Bnignndj throws him* 

i self at his feet 

I I r^reti for oar national honor, that this scene was not con- 
ceived by a Frenchman ; bat how much genius, and, above all, 
how much nature is necessary to become thns identified with 
all that is great and true in M conntries and in all ages I 

Talbot, whom Schiller represents as an atheist-warrior, in- 
trepid against heaven itself, despising death, even though he 
thinks it full of horror — ^Talbot, wounded by Joan of Arc, dies 
on the stage blaspheming. Perhaps it would have been better 
to follow the tradition, which says that Joan of Arc never shed 
human blood, and triumphed without kiUing. A critic, of a 
refined and severe judgment, has also reproached Schiller with 
having made Joan of Arc susceptible of love, instead of making 
her die a martyr, without having ever experienced any senti- 
ment foreign to the object of her divine mission : it is thus that 
she should be painted in a poem ; but I know not whether a 
soul of such unspotted holiness would not produce, in a piece 
designed for the stage, the same effect as marvellous or alle- 
gorical beings, whose actions are all foreseen, and who, not 
being agitated by human passions, present to us no dramatic 
conflict or interest. 

Among the noble knights of the court of Franca, the brave 
Dunois presses forward the first to ask Joan of Arc to become 
his wife ; and, constant to her vows, she refuses him. A young 
Montgomery, in the midst ct a battle, implores her to spare 
him, and represents to her the grief which his death will occik 
non to his aged iSither; Joan of Arc rejects his prayer, and 
displays, upon this occasion, more inflexibility than her doty 
demaiids; but at the instant when she ia dbooi \ft ifloSu^ % 

TiiE DRAMAS OF ecnnj-Ea. 315 

young Engllsbinati, Lionel, she feels Lcrsclf at ooce soflened 
b^ his be&utf, end lore finds eotnuice into her heart, ^en 
aU her power is deitrojed. A knight, black » &le, appcan 
to her in the battle, and coanscls her oot to go to lUieima. 
She goea there, notwithstanding ; tbe toleniD pomp of the 
coronation passes on the stage; Joan of Arc waUcs in tbe first 
rank, but ber steps are unsteady ; she bean in a trembling 
hand tbe consecrated standard, and the bol; spirit is perceired 
to protect her no longer. 

Before she enters tbo chnicb, sbo stops short, and romaina 
alone on tbe stage. From a&r are heard the fesldre instra- 
mcnta that accompany tbe cercmonj of tbo consecration; and 
Joan of Arc utters hannonioas complaints, while the aooad ot 
flntea and haatboyi floats gentl; in tbe air. 

"HuEh'd in the din of arms, vht'b itormR lutaid*, 
Glul song and dance succeed the lilood; fray, 
Through all th« streets Joy echoes tat and wide, 
Altar and church are d^'d in rich ftrrej, 
Triumphal arches riie in tcvuilI pride, 
WreathcB round the eotnmiia wind their flowery war, 
Wide Rheimi cannot oontnin (he mighty thiong, 
Which to tbe Joyoui pageant rolls nlong. 

"One thought a!ono dolh evcty heart poBBCM, 
One rapt'roHB feeling o'er -c.ich breast preside, 
And those to-ilay are linli'd in happinesi 
Whom bloody hatred did erewhile diTide. 
All who tbcmeelvc9 of Gallic r^c confees 
Tbe name of Frenchman own with consoioaa prldi^ 
France eeea tbe splendor of her nnclcnt crown, 
And to her monarch's too bon« 'humbly down. 

"Yet I, the author of this wide delight, 
The joy, myself created, cannot sbnre ; 
ilj heart la changed, in sad and drrary plight 
It flies the feative pageant in dcEpoir ; 
Still to the Britlih camp it Uketh fligbt, 
Against my will my gaia still wanden there. 
And from the throng I steal, with grief oppreH'd, 
Ta hide the guilt wbkh weighs upon my bresit. 

S16 ifAT^Aine DB STAXl's OXBICAHT. |^ 

^ What? I permit a human form f- 

To haunt m j bosom's sacred cell f 
And there, where hcarenl j radiance ihoiM 
Doth earthlj lore presume to dwell t 

The saTiour of m j country, I, Wj 

The warrior of God most high, V^ 

Burn for my country's foeman f Dare I name 
EaaTen's holy light, nor feel o'erwhelm'd with thaaie f 

[Tk$ tmuk behmd tki §eaupamet iniotnqft mii m $ 9k i0 wi l sdiii* 

"Woe is mo I those melting tenet I ^ 

They distract my 'wilder'd brain I 
E?cry note his Toice recalling. 
Conjures up his form again I 

" Would that spears were whining roniid I 
Would that battle's thunder roar'd I 
'Mldnt the wild tumultuous sound 
My former strength were then restored* 

'* Thcuo sweet tones, these molting Tolces, ^ 

With seductive power are fratight I 
They diKSolvc, In gentle longing, 
Every feeling, every thouglit, 
Woking tears of plaintive sadness 1 

[Afler apmiM, wUh mow Msryy. 

<« fibould I have klll'd him f Could I, when I gawd 
Upon his face? KiU'dhlml Oh, rather far 
Would I have turn'd my weapon 'gainst myself I 
And am I culpable becatiso humane f 
Is pity sinful ?— Pity 1 Didst thou hear 
The voice of pity and humanity, 
When others fell the victims of thy sword f 
Why was she silent when the gentle youth 
From Wales entreated thee to spore his life f 
cunning heart I Thou Host before high Hearen | 
It is not pity's voice Impels thee now 1 
—Why was I doom'd to look into his eyes I 
To mark his noble features I With that glance. 
Thy crime, thy woe commenced. Unhappy one I 
A sightless instrument thy Ood demands. 
Blindly thou must accomplish his behest I 
When thou didst see, God's shield abaadoa'd thee, 
And the dire snares of Heil around thee pras'd I 

yrtmm mW ipVHV liHini| MNI MS MnSMSI VHS « ^MM ^^i^^^^^' 



** HarmloM staff I Oh, that I ne'er 
Had for the sword abandon'd thee I 
Had roicci noTor rcach*d mine eari 
From thy branches' saored tree I 
High Queen of HoaTon I Oh would IliiA 
Hadst ne'er rereai'd thjielf to me I 
Take back— I dare not claim it now<— 
lUce back thy orown, 'tis not lor bmI 

** I saw the hearcns open wide, 
I gaied upon that fiioe of lore I 
Yet here on earth my hopes abidoi 
They do not dwell in heaTon abore I 
Why, Holy One, on me impoee 
This dread rooation f Could I iteel, 
And to each soft emotion close 
This heart, by nature form'd to feelf 

** Wouldst thou proclaim thy high 
Make choice of those who, Arce from riB, 
In thy eternal mansions stand ; 
Bond forth thy flaming cherubim I - * 

Immortal ones, thy law they keepi 
Tlioy do not fool, they do not weep I 
Choose not a tender woman's aid, 
Kot tlie frail soul of shepherd maid I. 

<* Was I conoem'd with warlike things, 
With battles or the strife of kings f 
In innocence I led my sheep 
Adown the mountain's silent steep. 
But thou didst send me into life, 
'Midst princely halls and soenes of striHi, 
To lose my spirit's tender bloom: 
Alas, I did not seek my doom I" 

HiU aoliloquy is a grand schiovomont of pootiy ; ons paw 
Tsding sonUmont naturally brings os back to ihe same exp p ss' 
sions ; and it is in this Tory respect that tho Tono agrees so 
well wifh the sffoetions of tiis soid; for it trsasferms into do* 
lieioiis harmonj what might apposr monotonous in tho simplo 
langnsgo of prose. Tho distiaoUon of Joan of Are goseoa at 
wagfi Inereasing. Tho honom thejr render her, the gralitado 

318 ifAT^Aine DB STAXl's OEBMANT. 

that Bhe feels herself abandoned by the all-{>oweTfal hand which 
had raised her up. At last her fatal presentiments arc accom- 
plished, and in what manner I 

In order to conceive the terrible effect of an accusation of 
witchcraft, wo must transport ourselres to those ages in which 
the suspicion of this mysterious crime was erer ready to fix 
upon all extraordinary events. The belief of a principle of evil, 
such as it then existed, supposed the possibility of a frightful 
worship paid to the powers of hell ; Uie terrifying objects of 
nature were the symbol, and grotesque signs and characters 
the language of this worship. AH worldly prosperity, of which 
the cause was unknown, was attributed to this demoniacal con- 
tract The word magic designated the unbounded empire of 
evil, as providence was applied to the dominion of infinite hap- 
piness. This imprecaUon, $he is awitehj he is a sorcerer^ be- 
come ridiculous in our days, madp men shudder with horror a 
few centuries ago ; all the most sacred tics were broken when 
these words wore uttered ; no courage could brave them, and 
the disorder with which they affected all spirits was such, that 
it might have been said, the demons of hell appeared in reality, 
when they fancied they saw them appear. 

The unhappy fanatic, Joan of Arc's father, is seized by this 
prevailing superstition ; and far from being proud of his daugh- 
ter's glory, ho presents himself voluntarily amid the knights 
and lords of the court, to accuse her of witchcraft Immo* 
diately every heart is frozen with fear; the knights, compan- 
ions in arms of the heroine, press her to justify herself, and she 
remains silent The king questions her, and still she remains 
silent The archbishop conjures her to swear her innocence 
on the crucifix, and she remains silent She will not defend 
herself against the crime of whicK she is falsely accused, while 
she feels herself guilty of another crime, which her heart can- 
not forgive itsol£ Thunder is heard, the people are over- 
whelmed with terror, and Joan of Arc is banished from the 
empire she has just preserved. No man dares come near her. 
The crowd disperses; the nnhappy victim quits the town, and 
wandens aboat in the fietda; oveiOQiD%\>7 fsii^sski^iiDii^ %m^i(9^ 

"" ''"•I to Mil ic/ 
"f"S" K= ..other Z . 


testimony, before the English, to the eneigy of the French, to 
the virtacs of the King of France, even though he had aban- 
doned her. Her death was neither that of a warrior, nor that 
of a martyr; but, through the softness and timidity of her sex, 
she displayed in her last moments a force of in^iration almost 
equally astonishing with that, the supposition of which had 
brought down upon her the charge of witchcraft. Howerer 
this might be, the simple recital of her end causes a much 
stronger emotion than the catastrophe imagined by Schiller. 
When poetry takes upon herself to add to the lustre of an 
historical personage, she is bound at least carefully to preserve 
the physiognomy which characterizes it ; for greatness is really 
strildng only when it is known how to give it a natural air. 
Now, in the subject of Joan of Arc, the real history not only 
has more of nature, but more of grandeur in it than the fictitious. 
The Bride of MezeinayrtA composed according to a dramatic 
system altogether diflcront from that which Schiller had till 
then followed, and to which he happily returned. It was in 
order to admit choruses on the stage, that ho chose a subject 
in which there is nothing of novelty but the names ; for it is, 
fundamentally, the same thing as the Friree Unnemii, Schiller 
has merely added to it a sister, whom her two brothers fall in 
love with, ignorant that she is their sister, and one kills the 
other from jealousy. Tliis situation, terrible in itself is in* 
termingled with choruses, which make a part of the piece. 
These are the the servants of the two brothers, who interrupt 
and congeal the interest by their mutual discussions. The 
lyric poetry, which they recite, all at the same time, is superb ; 
yet are they not the less, whatever may be said of it, cho- 
ruses of chamberlains. The assembled people alone possesses 
that independent dignity which constitutes it an impartial 
spectator. The chorus ought to represent posterity. If it 
were animated by personal affections, it would necessarily 
become ridiculous; for it would be inconceivable how several 
different persons should say the same thing, at the same timOi * 
if their voices were not supposed to be the unerring interpret- 
«n of eternal truths. 



1HB ixBjJCA^ar nmnT.TB 

Schiller, in the pre&e« to lib Briii qfjfmmu^ ^>i— jfi^s-^ 
with TeaaoDy thmt <mr modern uaget no longer pones IhoM 
popolar forms which rendered them io poetical amooi; tte 

**The palaces of kings are in these dap doaed; eourlsef 
jilstice have been transferred from the g^tes of eities to As 
interior of boildings; writing has narrowed the pro^viaee «f 
q>eech; the people itself— the sensiblj living mass— when il 
does not operate as bnte force, has become a pari of tlio ciril 
politji and therebj an abstract idea in oar minda ; tho deitiss 
hayeretamed within the bosoms of mankind. The poet nnnl 
reopen the palaces — he most place courts of justice beneath 
the canopy of hoaTcn — restore the gods, reprodnco eveiy ei- 
tromo which the artificial frame of actual life haa aboUsbed— 
throw aside crcry fiictitioiis inflaonce on the mind or cooditioa 
of man which impedes the manifestation of his inward natnrs 
and primitiTo charactori as the statnary rejects modom eo^ 
tame : — and of all external circumstances adopts nothing bet 
what is palpable in the highest of forms — ^that of hnmaiiitf"' 

This desire of another tjme, another country, is a poeticsl 
sentiment The religious man has need of hearen, and the 
poet of another earth ; but it is difficult to say what religioo, 
or what epoch, is represented to us by <4s BritU ^ Jfkssma; 
H departs from modem nuumers, without placing us in the 
times of antiquity. The poet has confounded all religioos 
together, and this confusion destroys the high unity of tragedy 
»-that of an all-directing destiny. The eYonts are alroeioo^ 
and yet the horror they inspire is of a tranquil east» The 
dialogue is as long, as diffuse, as if it were the bustnesa of all 
to speak fine rerscs, and as if one lored, and were jealoos^ and 
bated one's brother, and killed him, without erer departiiy 
the sphere of general reflections and philosophiea] 

Ths Brid$ (^JfeMsina dispkys, neyertheless, some admiffaMe 
tracesof the fine genius of Schiller. When oiieof the 
has been killed by the other, who is jealous of Umi the 

> We ass the TwriMi BMidft te Mr. 


^ 1 



bodj IS brought into the mother's palace ; she is yet ignorant 
that she has lost a son, and it is annoanced to her by the choma 
which walks before the bier, in the following words : 

"With Sorrow in his train, 
From street to street the King of Tsnor glides ; . 

With stealthy foot and slow, 
He creeps where'er the fleeting laoe 

Of man abides I 
In tarn, at every gate 
Is heard the dreaded knocic of Fate, 

The message of unutterable woe I 

** When in the sere 
And Autumn leaves decaj'd, 
The mournful forest tells how quickly fiids 

The glories of the year 1 
When in the silent tomb opprest, 

Frail man, with weight of days, 
Sinks to his tranquil rest, 

Contented nature but obeys 
Her everlasting law — 
The general doom awakes no shuddering awe 1 

But, mortals, oh ! prepare 
For mightier ills : with ruthless hand, 
Fell murder cuts the holy band — 

The kindred tie: insatiate Death, 
With unrelenting rage, 
Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age 1 

" When clouds athwart the lowering sky 
Are driven — when bursts with hollow moan 
The thunder's peal—our trembling bosoms own 

The might of awful destiny I 
Yet oft the lightning's glare 
Darts sudden through the cloudless air :--> 

Then in thy short delusive day 
Of bliss, oh 1 dread the Irescherous snsie ; 
Kor priie the fleeting goods and vain, 

The flowers that Uoom bat to decay I 
Kor wealth, nor Joy, nor aoi^t bat pikk. 

Was e'er to aerial's lot SMuei^ 

Oar flist best Iwnn ti liwiri 


When the brother learns thmt the olgeei of Us lopi^fv 
which he had slain his brother, is his sisteri hk impm kwvs 
no bounds, and he resolres to die. Wm mother oflhna to pa^ 
don him, his sister entreats him to live ; bnt a **«*tiBitiit «f 
envy mixes with his remorse, and renders him slffl 
him that is no more. He says : 

" When one oommon tomb 
The murderer and his rictim doses romid— 
When o'er our dost one monmnentsl stone 
Is roird— the curse shall cease thy lore no man 
Unequal bless thy sons ; the predoos teaiw 
Thine eyes of beauty weep, shall sanetiQr 
Alike our memories. Yes I In death are qnenek'd 
£he fires of rage ; and Hatred owns snbdned, 
The mighty reoondler. Pity bends 
An angel form above the funeral nm, 
With weeping, dear embrace." 

His mother again conjures him not to abandon li«r. ^JXa!^ 

'' I would not live the rictim of despair ; 
Kol I must meet with beaming eye the smUe 
Of happy ones, and breathe erect ttie air 
Of liberty and Joy. While yet alike 
We shared thy lore, then o'er my days of youth 
Pale Envy cast his withering shade ; and now, 
Tliink'st thou my heart could brook the deanr 
That bind thee in thy sorrow to the dead f 
Death, in his undecaying palace throned, 
To the pure diamond of perfect rirtue 
Sublimes the mortal, and with chastening Are 
Each gather'd stain of frail humanity 
Puiges and bums away : high as the stars 
Tower o'er this earthly sphere, he soais abofo no { 
And as by andent hale disserer'd kng. 
Brethren and equal denisens we lived, 
So now my restless soul with envy plnsii 
That he has won from me the glorious pttas 
Of Immortality, and like a god 
In memory marches on to times unbon V* 

Ihe jealousy inspired bj the dead is n sentiai— t M d 



lefinemciit and troth. Who^ in shorti etn triompli orer 
regret t Will the living ever equal the beauty of tliat eeleitial 
image, which the friend who it no more has left engraren on 
our heart! Ilaa he not said to us : ^Foiget mo not T Is he 
not dcfeneelefls t Where does ho exist upon this earth« if not 
in the sanctuaiy of our soul t And who^ among the happj of 
this world, ean OTer unite himself to us so intimately as his 
memory t 



SouiLLKR*s Wilhelm TtU is clothed with tliose lively and 
brilliant colors which transport the imagination into tlie pic- 
turesque regions that gave birth to the venerable confederacy 
of the Rutli. In the very first verses we fancy ourselves to 
hear the horns of the Alps resound. Tlie clouds which inter- 
sect the mountains and hide the lower earth from that which 
is nearer heaven ; the chamois hunters pursuing tlieir active 
prey from precipice to precipice ; the life, at once pastoral and 
military, which contends with nature and remains at peace 
with men— every thing inspires an animated interest for Swit- 
cerland ; and the unity of action, in tliis tragedy, consists in 
the art of rooking of the nation itself a dramatic character. 

The boldness of Tell is brilliantly displayed in tlie first act 
of the piece. An unhappy outlaw, devoted to death by one 
of the subaltern tyrants of Switzerland, endeavors to save him- 
self on the opposite side of the lake, where he thinks he may 
find an asylum. The storm is so violent that no boatman 
dares risk tiie passage to conduct him to it Tell sees his dis- 
tress, exposes himself with* him to the danger of the waves, 
and succeeds in landing him safely on the shore. Tell is a 
stranger to the consphracy which the insolence of Gessler has 
•xcited. SUufiacher, Walter Fursk, and Arnold of Melchthal 
lay the fimndatioii of the revolt Tell is its heio^ bol 

author; lie do«t not tUnk about politioi^ and droama of ^fiaa- 

Bj onlj when it diitorbi hit tranquil eziiteDoo ; ho lepeb it 
with the fbroe of his arm when he fbeb ita aggreaaion; ht 
jadgoi, he eondemna it before hia own tribanal ; but ha de« 
not eonipiro. 

Arnold of Melchthaly one of the oonipiratorai haa letiaatad 
to Walter's hoase, baring been obliged to quit hia iathor that ht 
might escape the satellites of Gessler ; he is troablod ai the reflex 
tion that he has left him alone; he aska anxiooalj toft Bowa ef 
hiffii when, on a sudden, he learns that, to puniah tho old bmb 
for his son*s haying withdrawn himself firom the Judgmenl pio- 
nounccd ogainst him, the barbarians hare deprirod him «f 
sight with a red-hot iron. What despair, what nga eaa aqasl 
that which ho foelsl It becomes necessary thai ha ahould it- 
Tcngo himself. If he delivers his country, it is to put to death 
the tyrants who have blinded his father ; and whan the thrss 
conspirators bind themselves by a solemn oath to die or to sst 
free their foUow-citiscns from the frightftd yoka of GessUfi 
Arnold exdaims: 

•• Alas, mr old blind Ikthor I 
Thou csnst no more behold the daj of freedom ; 
But thou ihslt hoar it. When from Alp to Alp 
The boAOoa flros throw up tholr flaming signa. 
And the proud ossUes of the tjiaats iiUl, 
Into thy oottsge ihsll the Swltsor bursty 
Boar the glad Udingt to thine ear, and o'or 
Thy darken'd way shall Freedom's ladlaaos pour/'* 

The third act is filled by the prineipal action, both of the 
real history, and of the drama. Gessler has had a hal raised 
on a spear's head in the middle of the publie square, with an 
order that all the country people shall pay it salutation. TsD 
passes before this hat without conforming to the will of the 
Austrian governor ; but it is only from inadvertenea that he 
has not submitted to it, fbr it was not in the character of TsOi 

« Forthis and otherquotatlons fifom WiMm 7U{,ws an ladeblsdlatfM 
flaeviisleoofMr.TheodeielCaitla. (Behrfsflsarfswllfiwwy), JH 


at least in that which Schiller has assigned him, to manifest 
any political opinion : wild and independent as the deer of the 
mountains, ho lived free, but did not inquire into the right by 
which he did so. At the moment of Tdl's being chaiged with 
his neglect of the salutation, Gesslcr amres, bearing a hawk 
on his wrist: this single circumstance stamps the picture, and 
transports us into the middle ages. Hie terrible power of 
Gessler forms a striking contrast to the simple manners of the 
Swiss, and one is astonished at this tynxmj exercised in the 
open air, with the hills and yallep for its solitary witnesses. 

Toll's disobedience is related to Oesder, and Tell excuses 
himself by a£Brming that it was unintentionally and through 
ignorance that ho did not perform the enjoined act of saluta- 
tion* Gessler, still irritated, says to him, after some momenta 
of silence: 

** I hear, Tell, you'rs a master with the bow,— 
And bear the ptlm away from ereiy rifsL' 


Hie son of Tell, twelve years of age, proud of hia fiithei^a 
skill, exclaims : 

''That must be tme, sir 1 At a hundred yards 
Ho'U ihoot an apple for you off the tree. 

« Is that boy thine, T^Ur 


" Yes, my gradons loid. 
* Hsst any move of them f 

" Two boys, my lord. 

"And, of the two^ which dost thou km the most f 

* Star, both the boys are diir to me aliki^ 

'TImd, Ten« dnoe At a hondrad jMds tlMMi 
Bring down tht applA from th« tme, tlMMi ihall 
Appnnra thy ikm bctot BM. TdMthjbov^ 
Tboa haat It then nt hand and mnlw Him wmtij 
To ihooi an ^iple from tht stripling't bend! 
Bat taka this ooimad,— look wall to thina aim. 
Sea, that thon hltfit tha appla at tha fiai^ 
Vor, ahooldit thOQ mlm, thy haad ihaU paj tha 


'What mooatront thing, mj loid, li thia jcm, aikf 
That I, fitan tha haad of mina own ddld I— Ho^ ■•! 
It Gttinot ba, kind rir, yon meant not 
Ood,lnhlagiaoa,lbtbftdl YoncooldBOi 
▲ fOhar iflrioad J to do that thing I 

^Thoa art to ahooi an ^iple from hia haad I 
I do doilro— ooomiand It ao. 


Lerel m j cronbow at tha darling haad 
Ofmlnaowndilldr Ko-ratharlatmadUl 

••Or thoa moit shoot, or with thaa diet tha boy. 

** Shall I become the mnrd'rer of my child I 
Yon hay e no children, slx^-^oa do not knoir 
Ihe tender throbUngs of a fiUhar^B heart. 

** How now, Tell, so discreet upon a snddenf 
I had been told thon wert a Tislonary,— 
A wanderer from the paths of common man. 
Hioq lor'st the manralloas. So baTO I now 
Cnll'd ont for thee a task of qiedal daring. 
Another man might pause and hasltata 9— 
Thon daahsst at It, heart and soal» at "— *' 


All who fonoand Geader haTO compMtion on Tell, and en* 
deaTor to aofteti tho barbarian who has thus condemnod hun 
to the most frightful of paniahmentt; the old man, the ehild'e 
giandfiUheTi throws himself at Gessler's feet; the child who is 
to haTO the apple placed on his head, raises him and says: 

''OnndfiUher, do not kneel to that bad msa I 
8s]r» where am I to stand? I do not ter ; 
H7 father strikes the bird upon the wing, 
And will not mils now when 'twould bsim Us boy I 

** Does tho child's innooence not tondi your heartt 

^Bethink joo, sir, there is a God in heaTsn, 
To whom yon most acooont for all your deeds. 

«Bind him to yonder lime-tree stnightl 


No, I will not be bound ! IwiUbeitUl, 
Still as a lamb— nor oren draw my breath I 
But if you bind me, I cannot be still. 
Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds. 

'^But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy I 


** And why my eyes f No 1 Do yon think I fear 
An arrow from my Other's hand f Not 1 1 
I'll wait it firmly, nor so much as wink I 
Quick, father, show them that thou art an arohefl 
He doubts thy ikiU— he thinki to ruin us. 
Shoot then, and hit, though but to q>lte the tyraati 

The child phkees himself beneath the lime-tree, and the 
apple is pat upon his head ; then the Swiss again press around 
Oessler, to obtain the pardon of TelL Gessler, addressing him* 
•elf to TeU, says: 


•'Kow^tothrtukl Henbearnot 
'Tb dangtitnis to carry deadly woapooa. 
And OQ tha archer oft Ua abaft raooUa. 
lliia right, theae haughty peagant drarls 
Trenchea upon their maater'a pilTll^ge. 
None should be armed, but thoeo who 
It pleaaea yoa to wear the bow and bolt 9— 
Well,— beitao. I will piOTide the maik. } 


<«AUnetheral Boomr 

An the apectatoTs ihudder. He trioa to bend lik boWi Ui 
■trongth fails him ; a mist OTerahadows his eyes; lie entieali 
Gosaler to grant him death. Gosslor is infleidble. Tell hea- 
tates yet for a considerable time in a state of frightfid aiudetjr, 
sometimes lookmg at Gesslery sometimes towards HeaTen ; 4heii9 
on a sndden, he draws a second arrow ont of his qniyer, and 
places it in his girdle. He bends forward, as if to IbDow the 
arrow which he sends forth; it flies — ^the people C17, '^llay 
the child lire T The child darts into his father's aiiii% aad 
says : ^"iij father, hero is the apple which fhine anow hath 
deft; I well know that it wonld not hart me/" The firfher 
falls senseless to the earth with the ehild in his anna. Bk 

1 Tha whole soana ia aa fbUowat 


**What,TeUt Ton would— no, not 
Ton •haka-yoor haad*a nnateady^-yoor knaes trirtlsw 

Tmll (UUimi tiU horn §M imm). I 

** Thara's soBMthtog iwimt baibra nine «yaa I 



**BaliatamafimnthUihotl Haniamyhisitl 

BwMBon year troo p era-letthsin strike aa dawn! 


oompanionB nuse and congratulate him. Gesdor draws near, 
and aaks him with what design ho had prepared a aeeond shaft. 
Tell refuses to inform him. Oesder insists. Tell asks a pio- 
teetion for his life if he shall answer truly; Geasler grants 


'^ I do not wmt th j life, Tell, bat the shot. 
Thj talent's oniTenall KoUiingdMuitotliMl 
ThoQ canst direot the radder like the bow 1 
Btonns fright not thee, when there's a lift' at stike: 
Kow, BSTionr, help thyself^— thoa ssvest all 1 

(Till Handt/mrfnttp agitated bp contmdmg m M oM^ kS$ 

to tk$ goumar ond Btaim* SmUMf iW tikm • •mmi 
arrow from kiiptivtr^ and ttiehUit^kiiheU, Ik$g$a» 

*Com«|fiither,ahooil Fmnotafttidt 


**It must bet 

Bunnrz {toko att tK$ whiSU ka» htm tUmHof k a 

Mmteiff advanat), 

** Hy lord, you will not urge this matter fbrther. 
Ton will not. It was surely but a test. 
Tou'to gain'd yoor objeot. Bigor pnsh'd too tu 
Is stire to miss ito aim, howoTer good. 
As sniq^w the bow that's all too straitly bent. 

<* Peace, till your oonnsel's ask'd for I 


Ay, sndldarsi IrsTcrenoemyking; 

Bat acta like these most mske his name abhon'd. 

He sanctions not this cmelty. I dare 

ATooch the flMt. And yoaoatitep your powws 

In hiwinng thaa mi fmnlBwtiHi^y ftfl^lt, 

«Hal thMgrow*sibold|aMUiSnksl 

TBX TimwiB or acsiLLXs. 881 

;. T«1I then, loolung at him with the o^e of rengwuio^ 
tjtio him: 

•■ Wall, m J lord, 
Blnoe 70a have promlMd not to taks 1117 Uf*, 

- *' I biTD ba«D dumb 
To ill tha oppnuiona 1 tu doom'd to *m. 
I'tb doud mlDa eju, tliat tbey miglit eel bthold th«n 
Bkds mj nbelliooB, urclling h«it b* lUU, 
And pant lU Btngeles dowa within 017 bnuL 
But to be lilflnt longfir, wera to b« 
A tnitor to m; kjog uid oonntij both. 

BiBTTiA {eatting htr—if ittmtn liim oni U* f»MnMr), 

" HflmteiM 1 Jon bat oiuppraM hi* rtjo ! 

" M J people I forsook — renounced my Iciadred — 
Broko bU the tics of iiiitun:, that I might 
Attach mjiflf to JOQ. I madly thought, 
ThU I dhoald best adTanco the geQinJ wul, 
By addinjc iiineWB to tho Bmpcror'a paver. 
The Bciloe bdTe fallen from mine eyee— I toe 
The fearful prccipico on which I stand. 
You'ie led my youthful judgment fur mtray,— 
I>oooi»ed my honcnt heart. With bo«t inlont, 
I had well-nigh •chiBvod my oonotry's ruin. 

" AndiciooB boy, this language to thy lordl 

" The Emperor Is my lord, not yon 1 I'm trm 
A« jou by birth, and I can copo with yoo 
In evety lirtno that beBoome > knigbt. 
And if you stood not here in that king's nun*, 

I'd throw my gauntlet down, and you should glTB 

An tOBwer to my gage in knigbttj faahion. 

Ay, beckon to yoni troopeiB 1 Bore I eUnd ; 

Bat not like these [Feinliag la OitfepU 

— tuuum'd. I h>T« * tword, 
And k* that (tin ODS tt«p 

882 ifAPAiffK DB staxl'b qebmajstt. 

I wiDy wiihoot reserve, dedare the tmtli. 

[B$ dnun Ihe amm fnm to iett, antf fam kit ijfm tiwnip 
u^fon the governor. 
If that mj hand had stmck mj darling child, 
Thif leoond arrow I had aim'd at yon, 
And, he aMured, I should not then have min'd." 

Gesfllery fariona at these words, orden Tell to be thrown into 

lliis scene possesses, as may be seen, all the umplicity of an 
historical event related in an ancient chronicle. Wilhehn Tell 
is not represented as a tragic hero ; he did not think of braving 
Gessler: he resembles, in all things, what the peasants of S wit- 
lerland generally are found to be, calm in their habits, lovers 
of repose, but terrible whenever those feeling are excited in 
their aonls, which slomber in the retirement of a countiy life. 
We are still shown, near Altorf^ in the Canton of TJri, a stone 
statue of coarse workmanship, representing Tell and his son 
after the apple has been pierced. The iather holds his son by 

Btauffaobbb («Do{a»m«). 

[WkiU tki aUnUion of iki crowd Jioi h$m dir^eUd to tJkiipoi 
whin Bestba had eaH kmrtoif hdw$ m Bw>«ni ami G^s- 
LIB, TXLL JU# iAol. 

««Theh07*BaliTel • 

ICAirr Toiosi. 

** The apple hM boon itraok 1 

[WALnn7vMniiQggm,mdUthiiii»/UL BnnuMf 

GsMua (uHoiUiM). 
^Howt Hitheihott The madman I < 


•• Worthy flitherl 
Pruy yon, eompoee yonrtelil The hoy's alive. 

WAx;rsa (rww 4a wUh ih» wU), 

•« Here is the apple, father 1 Welllfaiew, 
Tea wonld not harm year hoy.*' 


ODo hand, and with the other presses the bow to lu> bout, a* 
if t« thank it foT bsTing served him so well. 

Tell is pat in chains into the same boat in which Gesaler 
passes the Lake of Lacerno ; the atonn bnnta daring the pas- 
sage ; the barbarian is strack with fear, and asks his ricdni to 
succor him : Tell's chains are onbouod ; he guides the baik 
himself in the midst of the stonn, and as he draws near the 
Toclfs, leaps swiftly on the cmggj Aore. The recital of thia 
event begins the fourth act Hardljhaa ho reached his home, 
when Tell is infonned that ho must not expect to lire there ia 
peace vith his wife and chUdrcn, and ho then takes the tc«o- 
iution of patting Gcssler to death. His end is not to free h» 
country from a foreign yoke; bo scareely knows whether Aus- 
tria ought, or ought not, to govern Swit2erland: he know% 
however, that man bos been unjust to man ; he knows that » 
father has been compelled to shoot an arrow near the heart of 
his child, and bo thinks ttiat tho author of such a crime de- 
serves to die. 

His Bolilo<juy is extremely (ino : he shudders at the murder, 
and yet has no doubt of tbo Inwfulnesa of his resolution. He 
compares tbo innocent purposes for which ho has hitherto 
employed his arrow at tho cbnso and in sport, with the toni- 
bio action that ho is about to commit: ho sits' on a stone 
bench to wait at tho turn of a rood for Gcsalor, who )• abovt 
to pass by : 

" I'll Bit mo down upon thin bench of atone, 
Hewn for llio wny^wora tmvollcr'i brief ropo»« — 
For hero there 1b no home. — lilack liurrica b^ 
Tho oilier, wilb quick step and cnroleu look, 
Nor itAfs to (lUcHlIon of his grief.— Ilcra gooa 
Tho moTchunt, full of euro, — the pilgriin, next, 
With ilendar scrip, — and tlion tho pious monk, 
Tho scowlinR robber, nnd tho JoTlal pls^er, 
The cnrrici with bja hoavj-liidim hone. 
That cornea to ut from tho (at haunts of men ( 
For evoT7 rood oonducts to tho world's end. 

■ Or, Tsthtr, Is aboat to »Mt Umselil— JU. 


lliej All path onward t o twj man intent 
On hlf own MTend Iwirinow mine It mnrdor. 


"Time was, mj dearest children, when with Joy 
Ton hail'd jonr father's safe return to homo 
Ttcm his long monntain tolls ; for, when he oamo^ 
He erer brought some little present with him. 
A lorelj Alpine flower— a curious bird— 
Or elf-boat, found by wanderer on the hills.— 
But now he goes in quest of other game : 
In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder; 
And watches for the life-blood of his foe.— > 
But still his thoughts are iix'd on yon alone, 
0ear children.— >'Tls to guard your innocence, 
To shield you from the tyrant's fell reyenge, 
He bends his bow to do a deed of blood I" [Ritm, 

Shortly nftorwards, Getslcr is porcoiTod from a distance do> 
•ccndiDg tho mountain. An nnhappy woman whose husband 
is langaishing in one of his prisons, Uirows herself at his feet, 
and coDJarcs him to grant her his liberation ; he contemns and 
repulses her; she still insists ; she seizes his horse's bridle, and 
demands of him cither to trample her under foot, or to restore 
to her him she loves. Gcssler, indignant at ber complamtSi 
reproaches himself for baring yet indulged the people ol Swit* 
aerland with too great a portion of liberty : 

'* I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs. 
And crush the soul of liberty within them, 
ril publish a new law throughout the land ; 
I wUl— " 

Aa he pronounces this word, the mortal shaft reaehes him ; he 
iaik, exclaiming, ** Ihat shot was Toll's.** 

** Thou know'st the archer, seek no other hand," 

cries Tell, from the top of the rock. The acclamations of the 
people are soon heard, and the deliverers of Switserland aeeom- 
plish the TOW they had made, to rid themselTes of the yoke of 

It seems that the pieee should naturally end here, aa that of 
Maiy Stuart al her death; but| in ^aeh^ Sehiller hat added a 


■ort of appendix or explanation, which can bo no moro liatonod 
to aitoi tho principal catiutroplio ia torminatcd. Elizaboth r»- 
Bppcfvrs after Mary's oxocution ; wo oro made to witncM her 
grief and vexation at hearing that Loicc»toT hu takoD his 
departure for Franco. This pocUcal justico ooght to hsTS 
been Buppoaed, and not ropresonted ; the ipcctator cannot hear 
tho Bight of Elizabctli, after nitDCuiog tho lost momenta of 
Mary. In tho fifth net of Wilhettn Till, John tho Parricide, 
who assassinated his uneto Albert, beeauso ho refused him hi« 
birth-right, comes diiiguiacd as a monic, to demand an aayloin 
of Tell ; ho pcrsaades himself tbat their acts oro similar, and 
Toll repulses him with horror, showing him Iiow difforont wort 
thoir motives. Tho putting these two cbnroctera in oppodtioa 
to coch other, is a just and Ingenious idoa ; yet this contraati 
so pleasing in the elosot, docs not answer on tho stage. Oomna 
is of vQTy littlo import.inco in dramatic effects ; it is necessary 
for tho purposo of prcpnring thorn, but if it wore also required 
for the purposo of feeling them, this is a task to which CTen 
tho moHt rclincd audionco would ho found unequal. 

On the stage, tho additional act of John tho Parricido is 
suppressed, and tho curUin fails at the moment when Qcsalor'a 
heart ia pierced by the arrow. A short time after tho first 
representation of Wilhdni Tell, the fatal shaft struck also the 
worthy author of this noblo porformanco, Qcsaler perished at 
tho moment when ho was occupied by tho most barbaroua 
intentions. The soul of Schiller was filled with goneroos idoaa. 
These two states of mind, so eontraty to cadi Other, woro 
equally interrupted by doath, the common enemy of all hnmu 

886 XABAld BE flAIL's OnOUVT. 



Tni dramatic career of Goethe may be considered in two 
different lights. The pieces he designed for representation 
have much grace and frcility, but nothing more. In those of 
his dramatic works, on the contrary, which it is very difficult 
to perform, we discover extraordinary talent The genius of 
Goethe cannot confine itself within the limits of the theatre ; 
and, endeavoring to subject itself to them, it loses a portion of 
originality, and does not entirely recover it till again at liberty 
to mix all styles together as it chooses. No art, whatever it 
be, can exist without certain limits ; painting, sculpture, archi« 
tecture, are subject to their own peculiar laws, and in like 
manner the dramatic art produces its effect only under certain 
conditions — conditions which sometimes restrain both thought 
and feeling; and yet the influence of the theatre is so great 
upon the assembled audience, that one is not justified in refus* 
ing to employ the power it possesses, by the pretext that it 
exacts sacrifices which the imagination left to itself would i\gt 
require. As there is no metropolis in Germany to collect to-] 
gcther all that is necessary to form a good theatre, dramatio' 
works are much oftener read than performed ; and thence it 
follows that authors compose their dramas with a view to the \ 
effect in reading, not in acting. '^ 

Goethe is almost always making new experiments in litera- 
ture. When the German taste appears to him to lean towards 
an excess in any respect, he immediately endeavors to give it 
an opposite direction. He may be said to govern the under- 
standings of his contemporaries as an empire of his owBi and 
his works may be called decrees^ bj tuma anthoriiing or baa* 
ishiag the abosea of art 


Goetho was tirod of the imitolion of Freiioh piecet in Ott 
many, and with reason ; for even a IVenchnuui might be tqptSj 
tirod of it IIo therefore composed an historical tiigedj, is 
the manner of Shakspeare, OceU von BtrUckengenm TUs pieei 
was not destined for the stage ; bat it ia neTtttboIcas cspskb 
of representation, as are all those of Shakspcave of the ssM 
description. Goethe has chosen the same historical epoch si 
.Schiller in his play of the Robhtn; bat instead of piesentia{ 
a man who has set himself free fix>m all the tiea of moral sii 
social ordcri he has painted an old knighti imdor the ruga cf 
Maximilian, still defending the chiralroas mannors and tb 
foadal condiUon of tlie nobility, which gave so high aa ssowrf 
ency to their personal valor. . 

Goetz von Berlichingen was sumamed thu rrrmrJkandid, be- 
cause having lost his right hand in war, he had one madete 
him wiih springs, by the aid of which he hold and mansgsd 
his lance wiih dexterity : he was a knight renowned in kii 
time for courage and loyalty. Ihis model ia hapfnly chesea 
to represent what was Uie independence of tho ncUea belbfs 
the authority of the government became ooerciTo on all BMBi 
In tlio middle ages every castle was a fortreasi every aoUs s 
sovereign. The establishment of standing armiea, and the in- 
vention of artillery, effected a total change in aooial order; a 
sort of abstract power was introduced under tho name of tbs 
state or the nation ; but individuab lost, by degreesi all thsir 
importance. A character like that of Goets maat have aaiBNsd 
fix>m this change, whenever it took place. 

The military spirit has always been of a ruder cast ia Qth 

many than anywhere else, and it is there that we n^t i^oit 

to ourselves, as real, those men of iron whose images are stiD 

to be seen in the arsenals of the empire. Tet the sin^lisi^ 

of chivalrous manners is painted in Goethe's tragedy wiA 

many charms. This aged jSoets, living in the midst of batds^ 

sleeping in his armor, continually on horsebaek, never 

except when beseiged, employing all his resooieea tn 

temploting nothing besides---this aged Goeti, I say, gfapta w 

the highest idea of the bterest and aotivitgr whieli hansoilifc 
Tek I.— U 

888 icADAXK Di stavl's osbmakt. 

possessed in thoflo Dgcfl. His rirtncs, as well as his defects, 
are strongly marked ; nothing is more generous than his re- 
gard for Weislingen, once his friend, then his adrersarj, and 
often engaged even in acts of treailon against hfan. The sen- 
ribility shown by an intrepid warrior, awalcens the soul in an 
entirely new manner ; we have time to love in onr inactive 
state of existence ; but these lightnings of passion which enable 
US to read in the bottom of the heart, through the medium of « 
a stormy existencci cause a sentiment of profound emotion. 
We are so afraid of meeting with affectation in the noblest gift 
of heareuy sensibility, that wo sometimes prefer in the expres- 
rion of it even rudeness itself as the pledge of sincerity. 

The wife of Goetz presents herself to the imagination like 
an old portrait of the Flemish school, in which the dress, the 
look, the very tranquillity of the attitude, announce a woman 
submitted to the will of her husband, knowing him only, ad- 
miring him only, and believing herself destined to serve him, 
as he is to defend her. By way of contrast to this most excel- 
lent woman, we have a creature altogether perverse, Adelaide, 
who seduces Weislingen, and makes him fail in the promise 
lie had given to his friend ; she marries, and soon after proves 
faithless to him. She renders herself passionately beloved by 
Ler page, and bewilders the imagination of tfiis unhappy 
joung man to such a degree as to prevail upon him to give a 
poisoned cup to his master. These features are strong, but 
perhaps it is true that when the manners of a nation ate gen- 
erally very pure, the woman who estranges herself from them 
soon becomes entirely corrupted ; the desire of pleasing is in 
our days no more than a tie of affection and kindness , but in 
the strict domestic life of a former age, it was an error capable 
of involving all others in its consequences. This guilty Ade- 
laide gives occasion to one of the finest scenes in the pUy, the 
sitting of the secret tribunoL 

Mysterious judges, unknown to one another, always masked, 
and meeting at mgfati punished in silence, and only engraved 
on the pobaid which they plunged into the bosom of the 
edpiil ihii terrible motto: Ite Saoasf Tnoravu* ISmi 



scquaintod tho condemnod person with hif aontoneo bjr hanBg 
it cried thrco times under his window, TFcm, woe^ wo$l Iba 
was the nnfortiinato man giron to know thmt| ovorjwhere^ ii 
tlie stranger, in the fellow-citicen, in the kinsman «reBy hi 
might find his mnrdorer. In the crowd and in aolitndey in tb 
city and in the country^ all places wore iillcd bj tho infiaUi 
presence of that armed conscience which poraocatod fho gnihj* 
One may conceire how necessary this terriUo institntion mi^ 
have been, at a time when every man was powerfal against sB 
men, instead of all being bvested with the power which thcj 
ought to possess over each indiridnaL It was necessary that 
justice should surprise the criminal before ho waa abla to d^ 
fend himself; but this punishment which horored in tho sir 
like an avenging shade, this mortal sentence which might bs 
harbored even in the bosom of a friendi inspired an invineibls 

There is another fine situation, — ^that in which GoetJ, ia 
order to defend himself in his casUo, commands the lead tohs 
stripped from the windows to melt into balls. There is in thii 
character a contempt of futurity, and an intensonoss of strength 
at the present moment, that are altogeliier admirable. At M 
Goetz beholds all his companions in arms perish ; he renuos 
wounded, a prisoner, and having only his wife mod sister kft 
by his side. He is surrounded by women alone— -he who de- 
sired to live among men, among men of nnconqnerable spoito 
-»that he might exert with them the force of his character aal 
the strength of his arm. He thinks on the name that he mmt 
leave behind him ; he reflects, now that he is about to & 
He asks to behold the sun once more, he thinka on God, who 
never before occupied his thoughts, but of whose evistepce ks 
never doubted, and dies with gloomy conrage, regretting Ui 
warlike pleasures more than life itselfl 

This play is much liked in Germany; the national -*fl^rr* 
and customs of times of old, are feithinlly represented by il| 
snd whatever touches on ancient chivaby moves the henits d 
the Germans. Goethe, the most careless of sll mesi bsessss 
he ii lu^ e( \«»ASkn% ^<^ Uidt* el his codienos^ did not gift 


Limself the troable even of pnttiDg his play into Terse ; it is 
the sketch of a great pictare, bat hardly enough finished even 
as a sketch. One perceives in the writer so great an impa- 
tience of all that can be thought to bear a resemblance to af- 
lectation^ that he disdains even the art that is necessary to give 
a durable form to his compositions. There are marks of ge- 
nius scattered here and there through his drama, like the 
touches of Michael Angelo's pencil ; but it is a work defective, 
or rather which makes us feel the want of many things. The 
leign of Maximilian, during which the principsl event is sup- 
posed to pass, is not sufficiently marked. In short, we may 
Tenture to censure the author for not having enough exercised 
Lis imagination in the form and language of the piece. It is 
true that he has intentionally and systematically abstained fiK>m 
indulging it ; he wished the drama to be the action itself; for- 
getting that the charm of the ideal is that which ought to pre- 
side over all things in dramatic works. The characters of 
tragedies are always in danger of being cither common or fiic- 
titious, and it is incumbent on genius to preserve them equally 
from each extreme. Shakspeare, in his historical pieces, never 
«eases to be a poet, nor Racine to observe with exactness the 
manners of the Hebrews in his lyrical tragedy of Athalie. The 
dramatic talent can dispense neither with nature nor with art ; 
art is totally distinct from artifice, it is a perfectly true and 
spontaneous inspiration, which spreads a universal harmony 
over particular circumstances, and the dignity of lastin|( re- 
aiembrances over fleeting moments. 

Ths Qmnt ofEgmonO appears to me the finest of Goetlie's 
tragedies; he wrote it, I believe, at the same time, when he 
composed Werther; the same warmth of soul is alike percept- 
ible in both. The play b^ns at the moment when Fliilip II, 
weary of the mild government of Maigaret of Parma, in the 
Low Countries, sends the Duke of Alva to supply her placeb 

«Oos<hs»sewntMseflheptoes\artm|ayl|iwiiil4 Bi> 


The king is troubled bj tbg popularity which the Prince cf 
Omngo and the Coant of Egmont have acquired ; he an^tecta 
them or secretly favoring the partisana of the Rcfomution. 
Every thing is brought together that can fontiah tho moat at- 
tractive idea of the Count of Egmont. He ii seen adored by 
tho sotdion at the head of whom he hu borno away ao numy 
victories. The Spsnisb princess trusts his fidelity, eren ihTo^ 
she knows how much he censures the severity that naa been 
employed against the Protestants. The dtizena of Bniasela 
look on him as the defender of their libcrdes before the throne ; 
and, to complete the picture, the Prince of Orang;e, whose pro- 
found policy and silent wisdom are so well known in history, 
sets off still more the genoroas imprudence of Egmont, in vainly 
entreating Lim to depnrt with himself before the amriJ of the 
Duko of Alva. Tho Prince of Orange is a iriso and nob'.o char- 
acter ; an heroic but inconsiderate self-devotion can alono resist 
his counsels. Tlic Count of Egmont resolves not to abandon the 
inhabitants of Drufisels; lie trusts himself to bis fate, because 
his victories have tnuglit him to reckon upon the favors of for- 
tune, .ind lio nlways preserves in public business the same qual- 
ities that hnvo thrown so much brilliancy over his military 
character. Tlicsc noble nnd dangerous qualities interest us in 
his destiny ; wc feci on his account, fears which his intrepid 
soul never allowed him to expcrienec for himself; the general 
effect of his character is displayed ivith great art in the impres- 
sion n'hich it is made to produce on aJl tho different persons 
by whom ho is surrounded. It is easy vo trace a lively por- 
trait of tho hero of a piece ; it requires more talent to moke 
him act and speak conformably to this portrtit, and more still 
to make him known by the admiration that hs inspires in the 
soldiers, tho people, the great nobihty, in all that bear any re- 
lation to him. 

The Count of Egmont is iu love with a yonng girl, Clara, 
bom in tho class of citizens at Brussels ; he goes to visit her 
in her obscure retreat This love has a larger place in the 
heart of tho young girl than in his own ; the imagination of 
Clara is entirely subdued by the lostre of the Count of Eg- 

842 ifAnAine pB STABl'b OSBICAKT. 

fi monti bj the dazzling impression of his heroic valor and bril« 
liant reontation. There are goodness and gentleness in the 
V lore of E^ont; in the society of this young person he finds 
0. repose from troable and solicitade. " They speak to jon,** ho 
^ aajSi ** of this E^ont, silenti severe, anthoritatiTe ; who is made 
^ to strogf^lo with events and with mankind ; bat he who is nm- 
I pie, loving, confiding, happj — that E^ont, Clara, is thine.^' 

The love of E^ont for Clara would not be sofficient for the 

1 interest of the piece ; bat when misfortane is joined to it, this 
^ aentiment which before appeared onl j in the distance, acquires 
I ma admirable strength. 

I The arrival of the Spaniards with the Doke of Alva at th^.ir 
I liead being made known, the terror spread bj that gloomy na- 
f tion among the joyous people of Brussels is described in a su- 
I perior manner. At the approach of a violent storm, men retire 
to their houses, animals tremble, birds take a low flight, and 
leem to seek an asylum in the earth ; all nature seems to pre- 
pare itself to meet the scourge which threatens it : thus terror 
possessed the minds of the unfortunate inhabitants of Flanders. 
The Duke of Alva is not willing to have the Count of Egmont 
arrested in the streets of Brussels ; he fears an insurrection of 
the people, and wishes if possible to draw his victim to his own 
palace, which commands the city, and adjoins the citadel He 
employs his own soc, young Ferdinand, to prevail on the man 

* The foUowing U the entire passage in the version of Miss Anna Swat. • 

**Seostthon,Giaraf Let me sit down 1 (lI$$tattlkim9e{f^ik4kft^ona 
Jpottiool brfer€ MiMf rtttt Jk^r armt an hit hnut^ and hoki vp in kit /act.) 
That Egmont is a morose, oold, unbending Egmont, obliged to be upon 
his guard, to assume now this appearanoo and now that : harassed, mis- 
apprehended, and perplexed, when the crowd esteem him light-hearted and 
gaj; beloved bj a people who do not know their own minds; honored 
and extolled bj the iLtractable multitude ; surrounded by fHends in whom 
he dares not oonflde ; obeenred b j men who are on the watch to supplant 
him ; toiling and striTing, often without an oljeot, generally without a re- 
ward. Oh, let me conceal how it fitres with hhn, let me not speak of his 
Ibellngsl Bat this Egmont, Clara, is calm, nnreserTed,happj, beloved bj 
the best of hearts, whkh is also thoroughly known to him, and whkh he 
preaseetohisownwIthanboandedeoiifldaDeeandlovab (B$tmhra9mhw») 
nis k thj ISIgmoBL'*— J». 


«»d CmbM rep„„„fti,c 
Ion. wiri, 1, i^ 

•^i»,h.i. Stated ik"^ 

tne^„amOi. „,^i " 

W Wo™ Wy„ n* 


excuse eren when all he can allege penoades neither hiuQself 
nor any other person. Perhaps no man is capable of entering 
on a criminal act without some subterfbge, and therefore the 
tme morality of dramatic works consists not in poetical justice 
which the author dispenses as he thinks fit and of which his- 
tory so often shows us the fallacy, but in (he art of painting 
Tice and virtue in such colors as to inspire us with hatred for 
the one and love for the other. 

The report of the Count of Egmont*s arrest was scarcely 
spread through Brussels before it is known that he must per- 
ish. No one expects justice, his terrified adherents venture 
not a word in his defence, and suspicion soon separates those 
whom the same interest had before united. An apparent sifl>- 
mission arises from the terror which every individual feels and 
inspires in his turn, and the panic which pervades them all, 
that popular cowardice which so quickly succeeds a state of 
unusual exaltation, is in this part of the work most admirably 

Clara alone, that timid girl who scarcely ever ventured to 
leave her own abode, appears in the public square at Brussels, 
reassembles by her cries the citizens who had dispersed, recalls 
to their recollection the enthusiasm which the name of Fg- 
mont had inspired, the oath they had taken to die for him : Ul 
who hear her shudder. 


" Speak not the name, 'tis deadly. 


'*Not speak his name? NotEg^ont's name? Is it not on every 
ftongoe f Does it not appear ererywhere legibly Inscribed f I read it 
embhtaoned in golden letters among the stars. iTct utter itf What 
mean jef Friends! good, kind neighbors ! ye are dreaming; col- 
lect yourselves. Case not upon me with those fixed and anxious 
looks 1 Cast not such timid glances on eveir ade I I but give utter- 
ance to the wish of all. Is not my voice tire 70I00 of your own hearts f 
Who, in this fearful night, ere ho seeVs his restless couch, but on 
bended knee, will in earnest prayer soak to wrest his life as a cher- 
ished boon ftota heaven f Ask each other ! Let each ask his own 
heart ! And who but eicJaJms with me—' Egmont's liberty, or death I' 


** Qod help us I This is a sad busiiM 

^Siaj 1 siaj ! Shrink not awaj at the soniid of his namay to aail 

whom ye were wont to press forward so jojrouslj 1 — ^When 
nounoed his approach, when the crj arose, 'Egmoiii oosbosI Et 
oomes from Ghent 1' — ^then happj indeed were those dtiaaet whr 
dwelt in the streets through which he was to pa«. And wlien Ihi 
neighing of his steed was heard, did not OTery one throw aaido hS 
work, while a raj of hope and joj, like a sunbeam from hia co«il» 
nance, stole orer the toilwom finoes that peered firom OTery window! 
Then, as ye stood in the doorways, ye would lift up your children in 
your arms and pointing to him, exclaim : * See, that Is 'Egmaai, IM 
who towers above the rest 1 'Tis from him that ye must look tor bet- 
ter times than those your poor fathers hare known/ Let not joar 
children inquire at some future day, ' Where is he f Where mra the 
better times ye promised us f '— Thus we waste the time in Idle words I 
do nothing, — ^betray him. 


*' Shame on thee, Brackenbnrg I Let her not ran on that ; ptawl 
the mischief. 


**Dear Clara!— Let us go! What will your mother say f Fsr- 
chance — 


•'Think you I am a child, a lunatic f Whft aTails perJiin-#«f— 
With no Tain hope can you hide from me this dreadful cfctainfy. 
Ye shall hear me and ye will ; for I see it, ye are orcrwhelmed, f% 
cannot hearken to the voice of your own hearti. Thr:agh the prst- 
ent peril cast but one glance into the past, — the reoent past. Bend 
your thoughts forward into the future. Could ye live, would yo Uw, 
were he to perish? With him. expires the last breath of fi«edoau 
What was he not to youf For whose sake did he expose himself to 
the direst perils? HU blood flowed, his wounds were healed Ibr yon 
alone. A dungeon now confines that mighty spirit that upheld joa 
all, while around hhn hover the terrors of secret aswtslnatton. Fsr- 
h^M, he thinks of you,— -perhaps he hopes in yon,— he who baa 
•ooustomed only to grant fikvons to othan and to ftilfli thdr pi«j;«ii 




'* I hare neither the anni, nor the strength of a man : l*!*? • i&3ir« 
that which ye all lack— courage and contempt of danger. Oh, *hMi 
my breath could kindle jour fouli I That, profiling jou to thia boeom, 
I could arouse and animate jool Come I I will march in joor 
midst I As a waring banner, though weaponless, leads on a gallant 
array of warriors, so shall mjr spirit horer, like a flame, orer your 
imnks, while lore and courage shall unite the dispersed and warering 
Bult^ttule into a terrible host.*' 

Briickenburg informs Clara that thojr poreoirOi not far from 
tbem, Bomo Spanish soldiers, who may possiUy listen to tl*em« 

''Clara? Sec you not where we areT 


** Where T Under the dome of heaven, which has so often seemed to 
arch itself more gloriously as the noble Egmont passed beneath it 
From these windows I have seen them look forth, four or fire heads 
one abore the other ; at these doors the cowards hare stood, bowing 
and scraping, if the hero but chanced to look down upon them 1 Oh I 
bow dear they were to me, when they honored him ! Hod he been a 
tyrant, they might hare turned with indiflbrcnce from his fall ; but 
they lored him I O ye hands, so prompt to ware caps in his honor, 
can ye not grasp a sword T And yet, Brackenburg, is it for us to chide 
ihemT These arms tha^ have so often embraced him, what ic they 
Un him now f Stratagem has accomplished so much in the world. 
Ton know the ancient castle, every passoge, every secret way.*' 

Brackenburor draws Clara to her own habitation, and goes 
oat again to inqnire the fate of the Count of Egmont He 
letoms, and Clan, whose last resolution is already takeUi insists 
on his relating to her all that he has heard : 

** Speak to me of him I IsittrueT Is he oondemned f 

'«Hsis! Iknowit 

'« Tss, be stm liTSS. 


*' How c«n 70U b« iiura of that t Tjmaij murder* lu vloUm la At 
oiglitl UU blood floir* concealed from arerjr aye. 71i« pMfdt, 
ituniiix] and l»wlid«rod, Ho l>uriod lu iImp, droun of dollvKSDM, 
drc»m of Ihe fulfilment ot Ihclr Impotoct wbhM, *blls, iBdlgnutt «t 
Duc lapiDcnen, fall ipirit kbuidani the world. H« !• do monl Dt- 
ooIto me aot ; docelva not tlijulf I 

Brack u St tM. 

" tf o,— ho 11 TCI I sod ths SpuiLudi, iImI *t* prapuiog for Ibi 

people, on whom thej' ars alwut lo tiampla, a tsnibl« ipvcta^. la 

ordar to cruih, hj a violent blow, Mwh hoart that jit paala foe &«•■ 

" Proceed I CalmV prononnea laj iliath-wairuit alw I Near aad 
more near J approAch thnt lilcucd Inod, and already from thOM nalm 
or peace. I foel the breath of oonwUtioo. 8*7 on. 

" From cnsunl n-ord!", dropped licrcnnd llicro Ijtho e<iard«, I learn- 
ed tliiil necrclly, In llio mnrkol-plucc. tlicy won proparlnB lome terri- 
ble cpcctnctc. Tliroiii;h by-wnyi and fiLmUiir lanei I ttolo to mj 
cousin's I1011RC, and from a buck wln<tovr looked out upon the market- 
place. Torches irnvcit to and fro, in the handa of a wide circle ot 
Sjv\ni»h BoUlicra. I ulraincd my unaccustomed light, and out of the 
dnrknccs theru aroEO b<;fi>ro inc n acnlfrjltl, dnrk, (pacioul, and lofty I 
The fight filled roe with horror. Sovenil penoni were employed In 
covering with blnck cloth luch portioniof the woodwork ai jet Tcmaia 
ciposcd. The etcps were covered lout, also with black ; — I nw It all. 
They Eccmcd preptiring for the celebration of lome horrible ncrifice. 
A white crucijli. that shone like silver through the night, wa» ralnd 
on one side. As I gazed. Ilie terrible conviction strengthened In my 
mind. Scattered torcbei itill gleamed here and there ; gr>duatlj thiy 
flickered and went out. Suddenly, the hideous birth of night ntomed 
into id mother's womb." 

The son or the Duke of Alva discovera tbkt he bu b«ea 
mado the instrument ot Egmont'a di»trai:tio[i, and he deter- 
mines, at &11 hazards, to mvo him ; ^mont demands of him 
oa\j one tetrice, which is to protect Clara when he ihall ba 
no more ; bat we leam that, resoWed not to inTriYt thi xoaa 

848 XADAioc DE stasl's oeumant. 

the lored, she has destroyed herself. Egmont is executed; 
and the bitter resentment which Ferdinand feels against his 
father, is the punishment of the Duke of Alra, who, it is said, 
nerer lored any thing on earth except that son. 

It seems to mo that, with a few variations, it would be possi- 
ble to adapt this play to the French model. I have passed 
orer in silence some scenes which could not be introduced on 
our stage. In the first place, that with which the tragedy 
begins : some of £gmont*s soldiers, and some citizens of Brus- 
sels, are conrersing together on the subject of his exploits. In 
a dialogue, very lively and natural, they relate the principal 
actions of his life, and in their language and narratives show • 
the high confidence with which ho had inspired them. *Tis 
thus that Shakspeare prepares the entrance of Julius Ca»ar ; 
and the Camp of WalUnttein is composed with the same inten- 
tion. But in France we should not endure a mixture of the 
language of the people with that of tragic dignity ; and this 
firequcntly gives monotony to our second-rate tragedies. Pom- 
pous expressions, and situations always heroic, are necessarily 
few in number ; besides, tender emotions rarely penetrate to 
the bottom of the soul, when the imagination is not pr^^^iously , 
captivated by those simple but true details which givt life to 
the smallest circumstances. 

The family to which Clara belongs is represented ns com- 
pletely that of a citizen ; her mother is extremely vulgar; ho 
who is to marry her is indeed passionately attached to her, 
but one does not like to consider Egmont as the rival ot such 
an inferior man ; every thing that surrounds Clara serves, it is 
'true, to set off Uio purity of her soul ; nevertiielcss, in Franco 
wo should not allow in the dramatic art one of the first princi- 
ples in that of painting — tlie shade whioh renders the light 
more striking. As we see both of theso at onoo in a picture, 
we receive, at the same time, the effect of both * it' is not the 
same in a theatrical performance, where the action follows 
in succession ; the scene which hurts our feelings i* not toler^ 
ated, in consideration of the advantageous light it is to throw 
ca the fidlowing scene; and we expect that the tontmst shidl 

•"'fP™""! of IT" 

" uemuar »«« 

352 ifAnAifg DE stael's oebmant. 

religion more pure than that of the ancients might hare repre- 
sented to na. The Iphigenia of Ooethe has not less respect to 
truth than Antigone ; but she unites the calmness of a philos- 
opher with the fenror of a priestess: the chaste wordiip Oi 
Diana, and the asylum of a temple, satisfy that contemplative 
existence which the regret of being exiled from Greece imparts 
to her. She wishes to soften the manners of the barbarous 
country which she inhabits; and though her name is unknown, 
she sheds beneSeu^tions around her befitting a daughter of the 
King of Kings. Nevertheless, she ceases not to regret the 
beautiful country in which her infancy was passed, and her 
soul is filled with a firm yet gentle resignation, which it may 
be said holds the middle space between Stoicism and Christi* 
anity. Iphigenia somewhat resembles the divinity she serves ; 
and imagination represents her as surrounded with a cloud, 
which conceals from her her country. In reality, could exile, 
and exile far from Greece, allow any enjoyment except that 
which is found in the internal resources of the mind f Ovid 
also, when condemned to spend his days not far from Tauris, 
in vain uttered his harmonious language to the inhabitants of 
those desolate shores : in vain he sought the arts, a favoring 
sky, and that sympathy of thought which makes us taste some 
of the pleasures of friendship, even in the society of those 
who have no responsive feeling, and would be otherwise indif- 
ferent to us. His genius recoiled on itself, and his suspended 
lyre breathed none but plaintive sounds, a moumfril accompa- 
niment to the northern blast 

It appears to me that no modem work surpasses the Iphi' 
genia of Goethe in depicting the destiny which hung so heavily 
on the race of -Tantalus, and the dignity of the misfortunes 
caused by an invincible fatality. A religious dread %is felt 
through the whole narration, and the personages themselves 
seem to speak prophetically, and to act under the immediate 
influence of the gods. 

Goethe has made Thoas the deliverer of Iphigenia. A fero- 
doos character, such as many authors have represented bim, 
would not have acoorded wiUi the general ookr of jhe piece; 

851 ifAnAint DS STAEl's OERMANT. 

tha song which tho Parcm address to Tantalos in the infernal 
regions. They recall to his recollection his former glory, when 
be was tho guest of tho gods at the golden table; they de- 
scribe tlic terrible moment when he was hurled from his 
throne, the punishment inflicted on him by the gods, the tran* 
quillity of those deities who preside OTcr the unirerso— a tran- 
quillity not to be shaken even by the torments and lamenta- 
tions of helL These menacing Parcn inform the descendants 
of Tantalus that the gods will forsake them, because their 
features recall tho remembrance of their father. The aged 
Tantalus, plunged in eternal night, hears this sad song, thinks 
on his children, and bows down his guilty head. Images tho 
most striking, and a rhythm peculiarly adapted to the senti- 
ment, giro to this poetry the dr and energy of a national song. 
It is tho greatest effort of talent thus to familiarize us with 
antiquity, and to seize at the same time what would have been 
popular among the Greeks, and what produces also, at tho dis- 
tance of so many ages, an impression equally solemn. 

The admiration of Goethe*s Iphigenia in Taur%9^ which it is 
impossible for us not to feel, does not contradict what I have 
said on tlie more lively interest and warmer degree of feeling 
which we may experience from modem subjects. Those man- 
ners and that religion, tlie traces of which are almost effaced 
through the lapse of ages, present man to us almost as an 
ideal being, who scarcely touches the earth on which he 
moves ; but in the epochs and events of history which stiU 
influence the present moment, we feel the warmth of our own 
existence, and we expect affections similar to those by which 
we are agitated. 

It appears to me then that Goethe ought not to have placed 
in his piece of Torquato Tasdo^ the same simplicity of action 
and calm dignity of dialogue which was suitable to his Iphige^ 
fiio. That calmness and simplicity appears cold and unnatural 
in a subject so modem in every respect as that of the personal 
character of Tasso and the intrigues of the court of Ferranu 

Goethe wished to display in this piece the opposition which 
exists between poetry and the relationa of social life; between 


the oharaeter of a poot and that of a man of the woiUL Ha 
has ahown tho injarioot effect produced hj the patronage of a 
prince on tho delicate imagination of an authoTi eren wImb 
that pricce thinks himself a loTcr of literatoroi or al kasl 
takes a pride in appcariog to be so. This contrast betwoett 
nature highly exalted and cultivated by poetry, and natnra 
chilled but guided by the narrow riews of polieyi is an idea 
which becomes the parent of a thousand others. 

A literary character in the court of a prince at first aate- 
rally thinks himself happy in being so situated ; but in timo 
it is impossible for him to aroid feeling some of the troablea 
which rendered the life of Tasso so miserable. Talenta whioh 
are not perfectly free from restraint cease to be talenta; and 
nevertheless it is very seldom that princes abknowledgo tho 
rights and privileges of the imagination, and know at once 
how to consider and guide it properly. It was scaroely poa- 
sible to choose a happier subject than that of Tasso at Ferrmra 
to display the different characters of a poet, a courtier, a prin- 
cess, and a prince, acting in a little circle with a dogrea of 
selfish harshness sufficient to set the world in moti<m. Tho 
morbid sensibility of Tasso is well known, as well as the pol- 
ished rudeness of his protector Alfdionso, who, professing the 
highest admiration for his writings, shut him np in a mad- 
house, as if that genius which springs from the soul were to 
be treated like tlie production of a mechanical talent, by vala- 
ing the work while we despise the workman. 

Goethe has described Leonora d*£ste, the sister of the Dnko 
of Ferrara, who was in secret beloved by the poet, as entfansiaa> 
tic in her desires, but weak from motives of prudence. He 
has introduced into his piece a courtier, wise according to the 
world, who treats Tasso with that superiori^, which tho man 
of business conceives he possesses over the poet, and who irri- 
tates him by the calmness and dexterity with which he woonda 
without precisely giving him any specific cause of <tfenoe. 
This cold-blooded man preserves his advantage, and provekea 
his enemy by diy and ceremonious manners whkh eontinnall j 
offend without affording ground of complaint Due is tilt 

356 ifAnAifg DB STAEL's OKBHAITT. 

great evil Arising from a certain sort of knowledge of the 
worid ; and in this sense eloqaence and the art of speaking dif* 
fer extreoEiely, for to become eloquent it is necessary to free 
tmth from all its restraints, and penetrate to the bottom of the 
Booly which is the scat of conviction ; but dexterity of speech 
consists, on the contrary, in the talent of evading and parry- 
ing adroitly phrases wliich one does not choose to nnderstandi 
making use of the same arms to indicate every thing offensive 
without its being in the power of your opponent to prove that * 
you have said any thing which ought to give offence. 

This species of fencing inflicts much suffering on a mind im* 
bued with truth and sensibility. The man who makes use of 
it seems your superior, because he knows how to awaken your 
feeling while he himself remains undisturbed ; but we should 
not suffer ourselves to be imposed on by this sort of negative 
strength. Calmness of mind is excellent when it is the resuh 
of that energy which makes us support our own troubles, but 
when it arises from indifference to those of others, this calm- 
ness is nothing more than a disdainful selfishness. A year's 
abode in a court or a capital is sufficient to teach us with ease 
how to mix address and grace with this sort of selfishness : but 
to be truly worthy of distinguished esteem, it is necessary, in 
one's own character, as in a fine*literary composition, to unite 
opposite qualities — the knowledge of affairs with a love of the 
beautiful, and that wisdom which results from our intercourse 
with mankind, with the flights of imagination inspired by feel- 
ing for the arts. It is true that such an individual would con- 
tain in himself two distinct characters. Thus Goethe in this 
very piece says that the two personages which he contrasts 
with each other, the courtier and the poet, are the ttoo halvee 
of CM man. But sympathy cannot exist between these two 
halves, because there is no prudence in the character of Tasso 
and no sensibility in that of his opponent. 

The painful susceptibility of literary men was obviously dis- 
played in Rousseau and Tasso, and is still more conunonly aiao • 
ife^ed in the works of German authors. French writers hate 
been mom ruely affected bj it; bj living in confinement fin*! 


* ■olitndo, we find it difficult to support the external air. So- 

• ciety is in many respects painful to those who have not beea 
early accustomed to it, and the irony of the world is iiMn«' 
fatal to men of talent than to all oUicrs : good sense akmo 
would support them better. Goethe might have chosen the 
life of Rousseau as an example of that struggle between soeie^ 
such as it is, and society such as a poetical invagination sees or 
wishes it to be ; but the situation of Rousseau afforded much 
less scope for imagination than that of Tasso. Jean Jtfoqnea 
dragged a great genius into rcry subaltern situations. Tmm, 
brave as the knights he sung, in love, beloved, perseented, 
crowned with laurel, and still young, dying with griof on the 
very eve of his triumph, is a striking example of the spleiidor 
and the misfortunes attendant on distinguished talents. 

It appears to mo that in this composition the warm coloring 
of the South is not sufficiently expressed, and perhaps it wouki 
be difficult to transfuse into the German language that 
tion which is produced by the Italian. It is neverthel* 
above all in the characters that the traits of Germanio niher 
than of Italian nature, are discoverable. Leonora d'Este is a 
. German princess. The analysis of her own character and sen- 
timents with which she is continually occupied, is not at all in 
the spirit of the South. There the imagination reooHs not od 
itself; it advances without a retrospective glance. It traces 
not an event to its source ; it resists or yields to it without ex- 
amining its cause. 

Tasso is also a German poet. That impossibility of getting 
rid of the difficulties which arise from the usual circnmstancee 
of common life, which Goethe attributes to Tasso, is a trait of 
the contemplative and confined life peculiar to northern writers. 
The poets of the South have generally no such incapacity, they 
live more commonly in the open air, in public streets and 
squares, and above M things, men are more fiuniliar to them. 

The language of Tasso, in this piece of Goethe, is often too 
metaphysicaL The madness of the author of tkt JtnmUm 
did not arise from an abuse of philosophical refle6tkm% nor 
from a deep examination of what passes in the bottom of ]Qm 


heart; it was occasioned rather by a too lirely impression of 
external objects, by the intoxication of pride and of Ioto : he 
'scarcely made use of words but as harmonious sounds ; the se- 
cret of his soul was neither in his discourse nor in his writings : 
having never observed himself, how could he reveal himself to 
others! besidesi he considered poetry as a very brilliant art, 
•and not as a confidential disclosure of the sentiments of the 
heart It is clear to me both by his Italian constitution, his 
Life and his Letters, and even by Uie poems he composed during 
his imprisonment, that the impetuosity of his passions rather 
than the depth of his tlioughts occasioned his melancholy; 
there was not in his character, as in that of the German poets, 
that continual mixture of reflection and activity, of analysis 
and enthusiasm, by which existence is so singularly disturbed* 
There is an incomparable elegance and dignity in the poetic 
style of 2W«o, by which Goethe shows himself the Racine of 
Germany. But if Racine is reproached for the little interest 
inspired by JJSrSnicff we may with much more reason blame 
the dramatic coldness of Goethe*s Taao; the design of die 
autlior was to penetrate into characters, merely by sketching 
their situations ; but is this possible t From what sort of na- 
ture do wo extract those long conversations, full of wit and imo- 
pnation, which are held by all the different personages in turn t 
Who speaks thus of himself and of every thing f who would 
thus exhaust all that can possibly bo said without thinking it 
necessary to act f Whenever tlie smallest action is porseiw 
ble in this piece, we feel ourselves relieved by it from Uie con- 
tinual attention we have been paying to ideas alone. The 
scene of the duel between the poet and the courtier is extreme- 
ly interesting; the rage of the one and the dexterity of the 
other, develop their situation in a very striking manner. It 
ia exacting too much either from readers or spectators to ex- 
pect them to renounce all interest in tlie cireuDEistance of the 
performance, merely to attach themselves to the imagery and 
thoughts which it contabs. In that case it would be needless 
to pronoanee proper names, to suppose scenes, acts, a begin* 
Bisg or aa end, or any thing, ia diort, which renders aotion 


DOCMsary* In tho qniotaoM of ropoto wo Ioto oonteiiipUillo% 
bat whon wo aro in motion whatovor is dilatory is fatigaiBg. 

By a singular TiciBBitudo in tasto, tho Germana firrt a tt ad w d 
oor dramatio writon as transforming all tkoir horooa into 
Fronchmon. Thoy with reason appoalod to historical truth, to 
animate thoir colors and virify thoir pootry ; then all at onoo 
they grew tired of tlieir own success in this species. of com* 
position, and they composed abstract pieces, if wo may bo 
allowed so to call them, in which the social relations* of men 
to eacli other are indicated in a general manner, indepondoni 
of time, place, or individuality. It is thus, for instance, thai 
in the natural Daughter^* another piece of Goethe, the author 
calls his personages, tho duke, tho king, the father, the dangh- 
ter, etc., without any other designation,— ^considering the epoch 
in which the action of tlio play paftsc^ the names of the per* 
sonagos, and the country in which they lire, as so many y«1* 
gar concoms, too low for the dignity of poetry. 

Such a tragedy is indeed fit to be acted in the palaoe of 
Odin, whore ^e dead are accustomed to continue the oeciip»- 
tions which employed them during their lives; thero, the 
huntsman, himself a shadow, pursues with ardor the shadow 
of a stag, and phantoms of warriors combat on a groundwork 
of clouds. It appears that for a time Goethe was quito die- 
gusted with the interest taken in tlieatrical performances : that 
interest was sombtlmos found in bad compositions; he there- 
fore thought it should be banished from tho good. A suporior 
writer ought not, however, to disdain what is nnirersally pleas- 
ing; he ought not to abjure his resemblance to our common 
nature, if he wishes to be rained for that which distingoishea 
him. The point which was sought for by Archimedes, to en*- 
ble him to lift up the world, is exactly that by which an extra- 
ordinary genius approaches the common dass of mankind. 
This point of contact enables him to raise himself above others ; 
he must set out from what ho experiences in common with 
OS all, to make ns feel what he alons perceives. Besides, if it 



be trao that tho donpotism of our rules of propriety mixes often 
something factitious with our finest French tragediesi we do 
not find more truth in the extravagant theories of a systematic 
mind : and if there be a want of nature in exaggeration^ a cer^ 
tain sort of calmness is also an afiectation. It is a self-assumed 
superiority oTcr the emotions of the soul which may suit phi- 
losophy, but which will not at all accord with the dramatic 

We may without fear address these criticisms to Goethe, for 
almost all his works are composed on difibrent systems. Some- 
times he abandons himself wholly to passion, as in WertKer 
and Count Egmont; at other times his fugitive poetry sets all 
the chords of imagination in vibration; again, he gives us 
historical facts with the most scrupulous truth, as in Ooett wm 
Btrlichingen; at another time he has all the simplicity of an- 
cient times, as in Herman and Dorothea. In fine, he plunges 
himself with Fauit into the stormy whirlwinds of life ; then, 
all at once, in Taao^ the Natural Daughter^ and even in 
Iphigenia^ he considers the dramatic art as a monument erect-, 
ed among tombs. His works have then the fine forms, the 
splendor and dazzling whiteness of marble, but, like it, they 
are also cold and inanimate. We cannot criticise Ooethe as a 
good author in one species of writing, while he is bad in an- 
other. He rather resembles nature, which produces every 
thing, and firom every thing; and we may like his southern 
climate better than that of the north, without denying to him 
those talents which are soitaUe tb all the rarions regions of 


onAFTER xxm 


Amoho the pieces writton for tho porfomumoo of puppoti^ 
thero it ono ontidcd Dr. Famt^ or Fatal Sdmce^ whidi bat 
always had groat succobs in Gormanjr, Loisiiig took op tbis 
subject before Goethe. This wonderful history b a tnditioa 
Tory generally known. Several English authors hare writtsa 
the life of this same Dr. Faust, and some of them haTO eroi 
attributed to him the art of printing. Ilis profound knowl* 
odge did not presenre him from being weary of life; in oidor 
to escape from it, he tried to enter into a oompaet with tha 
devil, who concludes the whole by carrying him oSl Erom 
these slender materials Goethe has furnished the astoniahing 
work, of which I will now try to give the idea. 

Certainly, we must not expect to find in it either tasta^ or 
measure, or the art that selects and terminates; but if the 
imagination could figure to itself an intellectual chaos, such aa 
the material chaos has often been painted, the Fau$t of Goethe 
should have been composed at that epoch. It cannot bo ex- 
ceeded in boldness of conception, and the recolleetion of tbia 
producUon is always attended with a sensation of giddincM. 
The devil is the hero of the piece ; the author has not eon- 
ceived him like a hideous phant6m, such as he is usuaUy rqp- 
resented to children ; he has made him, if we may so exptess 
ourselves, the Evil Being /wr exee^^irnoe, before whom all o<Uiei% 
that of Gresset in particular, are only novices, scarcely woflbj • 
to be the servants of MephistopheleB (this is the name of tbe ' 
demon who has made himself the friend of Faust). Goelbe 
wished to display in this character, at once real and feaeifiili 
the bitterest pleasantry that contempt can inspire, and al tbe 
same time aa andaoioiia gayety thai amuses. Iheie is aa ki»« 


frrnil irony in the diBConrses of Mephistophdes, which extends 
itaelf to the whole creation, and criticises the universe like a 
bad book of which the devil has made himself the censor. 

Mephistopheles makes sport with genius itself as with the 
most ridicnloos of all absniditiesi when it leads men to take a 
serioas interest in any thing that exists in the woild, and above 
all when it gives tiiem confidence in their own individual 
•trength* It is singular that supremo wickedness and divine 
wisdom comcide in this respecti — ^that they equally recognin 
the vanity and weakness of all earthly things : but the one. 
proclaims this truth only to disgust men with what is good, 
the other only to elevate them above what is oviL 

If the play of ^afi#< contained only a lively and philosophi* 
cal pleasantly^ an analogous spirit might be found in many of 
Yoltaire^s writings ; but we perceive in this piece au imagina- 
tion of a very dificrcnt nature. It is not only that it displays 
to us the moral world, such as it is, annihilatod, but that hoU 
itself is substituted in the place of it There is a potency of 
sorcery, a poetry belonging to tho principlo of evil, a delirium 
of wickedness, a distraction of thought, which make us shud- 
der, laugh, and cry in a breath. It seems as if tho govern- 
ment of tho world were, for a moment, entrusted to the hands 
of the demon. You tremble, because he is pitiless ; you laugh, 
because he humbles tho satisfaction of self-love ; you weep, 
because human nature, tlius contemplated from the depths of 
hell, inspires a painful compassion. 

Milton has drawn his Satan larger than man ; Michael An- 
golo and Dante have given him the hideous figure of tho brute 
combined with the human shape. The Mephistopheles of 
Goethe is a civilised devil. He handles with dexterity that 
ridicule, so trifiing in appearance, which is nevertheless often 
found to consist with a profundity of malice ; ho treats all sen- 
nbility as silliness or affectation ; his figure is ugly, low, and 
crooked; be is awkward without timidity, disdainful without 
pride; be affeets somethmg of tenderness with the women, 
because it is only in their company that he needs to deeeivoi 
ia OBdsr to sedooe; aii4 what be uiklersti^ds Igr asdujotipni^iii 


femal irony in tho diaconnes of Hephistopheles, wliich extends 
itaelf to the whole creation, and criticiflcs the nnirerse like a 
ImuI book of which the deril has made himself the cenaor. 

Mephistopheles makes sport with genius itself as with the 
most ridiculous of all absurdities, when it leads men to take a 
serious interest in any thing that exists in the world, and abore 
all when it gires them confidence in their own individual 
strength. It is singular that supremo wickedness and dirino 
wisdom coincide in this respect, — ^that they equally recognin 
tho Tanity and weakness of all earthly things : but tho one- 
proclaims this truth only to disgust men wi^ what is good^ 
tho other only to elovato them abore what is evil. 

If tho play of Fauit contained only a lively and philosophi- 
cal ]^easantiy, an analogous spirit might be found in many of 
Yoltaire's writings ; but wo perceiTO in this piece an imagina- 
tion of a Tory different nature. It is not only that it displays 
to us the moral world, such as it is, annihilated, but that hell 
itself is substituted in tho place of it There is a potency of 
sorcery, a poetry belonging to tho principle of evil, a delirium 
of wickedness, a distraction of thought, which make us shud- 
der, laugh, and cry in a breath. It scorns as if the gorem- 
tnent of the world wore, for a moment, entrusted to the hands 
of the demon. You tremble, because he is pitiless ; you laugh, 
because ho humbles the satisfaction of self-love ; you weep, 
because human nature, tlius contemplated from the depths of 
hell, inspires a painful compassion. 

Milton has drawn his Satan larger than man ; Michael An« 
golo and Dante hare given him tlie hideous figure of the brute 
combined with tho human shape. The Mephistopheles of 
Ck>ethe is a civilised devil. Be handles with dexterity that 
ridicule, so trifling in appearance, which is nevertheless often 
found to consist with a profundity of malice ; he treats all sen- 
Ability as silliness or affectation ; his figure is ugly, low, and 
crooked; he is awkward without timidity, disdainful without 
pride; hie affects something of tenderness with the women, 
because it is only in their company that he needs to deceive, 
iis Qtder to sednoe; aii4 what ho understands Igr sednctipn,.iii 


to ministor to the paaaions of othersi for he caiiiK>t;6Teii imitifti 
lore. Hub is the only diBaimaktioii thit it impoinUe to 

The character of Hephistopheles aoppoeea an ineihamtMa 
knowledge of social lUe, of natarei and cf the marrdkiaa 
This play ctFauti is the nightmare of the imagination^ tut it 
is a nightmare that redoubles its strength. It diaeorers tlis 
diabolical rerolation of incredolityi of that incredulity whiA 
attaches itself to erery thing that can erer exist of good ia 
this worid ; and peifaaps this might be a dangerona rerelatioii 
if the ciromnstances prodaced by the perfidious intentions of 
Hophistophdcs did not inspire a horror of his arrc^gant hn- 
guago, and make known the wickedness which it coTors. 

In the character of Faust all the weaknesses of hnmaaitf 
are concentered: desire of knowledgCi and iatigae of labor; 
wish of success and satiety of pleasure. • It presents a peifeek 
model of the changeful and rersatile being whoso aontiments 
are yet more ephemeral than the short existence of which he 
complains. Faust has more ambition than strength ; and this 
inward agitation produces his rerolt against nature, and makes 
liim have recourse to all manner of sorceriesi in order to eecape 
firom tlie hard but necessary conditions imposed upon mortal- 
ity. Ue is discoveredi in the first scene, surrounded bj hii 
books, and by an infinite number of mathematical instruments 
and chemical phials. Ilis father had also derotod himself to 
science, and transmitted to him tfap same taste and habits. A 
solitary lamp enlightens this gloomy rotreati and Faost pursoes 
without intermission his studios of nature, and partionlaily ef 
magic, many secrets of which are ahready in his possesston. 

Ue iuTokos one of the creating Genii of the seeond order; 
the spirit appears, and counsels him not to elerate himself 
abore the qphere of the human understanding.* 

I Ws gUdly STail ohimItm of the TMyflas Twiloa of JSnmI, by Mr. 
OUiilos T. Brooki. His digtat sad iklthftil mdMiBf of this marrelloes 
potm, it a tilamph ef twnslstiwi sad a new 1^017 of Ammimm Btsni 


" Awax, intolenbla iprite 1 


*IlM>a breath'st a panting lupplicatioii 
To hear mj Toioe, mj Ibm to lee ; 
Thy mightf prayer prerails on ma, 
I oome !•— what miflerable agitation 
Seiaea thia demigod ! Where la the cry of thought f 
Where ia the breaat f that in itaelf a world hegoi, 
And bore and cheriah'd, that with Joy did tremblo 
And fondly dream na apirita to reaemble. 
Where art thou, Fauat f whoae Tdoe rang throogh my 
Whoee mighty yearning drew me from my apheref 
la thia thing thou? that, bleated by my braath, 
ninmgh all life'a windinga ahnddereth, 
A ahrinking, cringing, writhing worm 1 


"Thee, flame-bom creature, ahall I fearf 
'Tia I, *tia Fauat, behold thy peer 1 


*' In life'a tide-currenta, in actton'i itomiy 
Up and down, like a waTO, 
like the wind I aweep I 

Cradle and graTO— ; . 

A Umitlem deep— 
An endleaa weaving 
To and fro, 
A reatleaa heaTing 
Of life and glow,— 

8o ahi^ I, on Deatiny'a thundering loom. 
The Qodhead'i Uto garment, eternal in bloom. 


"Spirit thai aweep'at the world from end to and^ 
How near, thia boor, I Ibel myialf to thaa 1 


"Thon'ri Ilka tho ipiril thoa CMit OQtticdlMnd^ 


'< Not thee? 
Whom then? 
I, image of the Godhead, 
And no peer for thee 1" 

When tho Geniiia has dkappeared, a deep deqpair 
Fftoiii and he forms the design of poisoning hinw^f, 

'' I, godlike, who in hncj law bat now 
Eternal truth's fidr glass in wondrous nearaenp 
Bejoioed in hearenly radiance and deaxness, 
Leaying the earthly man below ; 
I, more than dierub, whose firee force 
Dream'd, through the reins of nature penotnliBg^ 
To taste the life of gods, like them ereaHag , 
Behold me this presumption expiating 1 
A word of thunder sweeps me from my oouise. 

*' Myself with thee no longer dare I measoro ; 
Had I the power to draw thee down at plsasyri ; 
To hold thee here I still had not the Ibroe. 
Oh, in that blest, ecstatic hour, 
I felt myself so small, so great ; 
Thou droTest me with cruel power 
Back upon man's uncertain fate. 
What shall I dof what shun, thus londy f 
That impulse must I, then, obey f 
Alas 1 our Tery deeds, and not our suffeiingi enljt 
How do they hem and choke life's way I 

' * To all the mind conceires of great and glorio«i 
A strange and baser mixture still adheres ; 
Striying for earthly good are we Tietorloiis f 
A dream and cheat the better part appears. 
The feelings that could once such noble life Inspire 
Are quench'd and trampled out in pasdoo's mirsw 

"Where Fantasy, erewhile, with daring flight 
Out to the infinite her wings expanded, 
A little space can now suffice her quite, 
When hope on hope time's gulf has wreck'd and 
Care builds her nest fiur down the heart's leosssss, 
There broods o'er dark, untold diiirsssss ; 
Bestless she sits, and scares thy J^ and pesos awajr I 
She puts on some new mask with each new day, 
Heitelf as bouse and home, as wife and ddld 



What nerer hits makes thee afraid, 

And what is nerer lost sho keeps thee still lanwrntliiy. 

•< Not like the gods am 1 1 Too deep that troth is throii I 
Bat like the worm, that wriggles through tho dnil ; 
Who, as along the dost for food he feels, 
Is cnish'd and huried hy the traveller's heels. 

'• Is it not dust that makes this loftj wall 
Groan with its hundred shelves and cases ; 
The ruhhish and the thousand trifles all 
That crowd these dark, moth-peopled places f 
Here shall mj craving heart find rostf 
Kust I perchance a thousand books turn over, 
To find that men are everywhere distressed. 
And hero and there one happy one discover f ' 
Why grin*st thou down upon me, hollow skull t 
But tliat thy brain, lilce mine, once trembling, hoping, 
Sought tho llglit day, yet ever sorrowful, 
Bum*d for tho truth in vain, in twilight groping f 
Ye, instruments, of connio, are mocking me ; 
Its wheels, cogs, lMin<ls, and barrels each one praises. 
I waited at tlio door ; you were the key ; 
Tour ward is nicely turn'd, and yet no bolt it raises. 
Unliftcd in tho broadcHt day. 
Doth Nature's veil from prying eyes defend her, 
And what sho chooses not before thee to display. 
Not all thy screws and levers can force her to surrender. 
Old trumpery I not that I e*er used thee, but 
Because my father used thee, liang'st thou o*or me, 
Old scroll I thou hast been staln'd with smoke and smut 
Since on this desk, the lamp first dimly gleam'd before ma. 
Better have squander* d, far, I now can clearly see, 
My little all, than molt beneath it, in this Tophetl 
That which thy fathers have bequeathed to thee, 
Kam and become possessor of it 1 
What profits not a weary load will bo ; 
What it brings forth alone can jrield the moment profit 

" Why do I gase as if a spell had bound me 
Up yonder f Is that flask a magnet to the eyes f 
What lovely light, so sudden, blooms around me f 
As when in nightly woods we hail the fUll«moon-ilsa. 

" I greet thee, rarest phial, predous potion I 
As now I take thee down with deep devotioiiv ^ . 

In thee I venerate men's wit and art j 

Quintessenee of all soporific flowers, 
Eztnwl of an the finest deadly pow«n« 



Thy favor to ihy mruter now ImpHtl 

I look on llico, tho light my p<^ln tppnaet, 

I huidlo tlice, the itrifo of IodsIds wm w, 

The llood-tiilo of tha iplrit eltbt fttny. 

Far out to icn I'm drawn, ■wool volcM 1I(teiUs(, 

Tbe glouy wntcn at my feet >» eIl«teDlng, 

To new ihorcs iMckoni me ft new-bom day. 

"A flory chariot flonti, on dry plnloni, 
To whcrg I lit I Willing, It bearoth me, 
On a new path, throngh uthei'i bloe 
To untrlod ipliarDt of puTo activity. 
ThU lofty life, tbU bllu olyslnn. 
Worm that tlion wast orowhlle, deMrvett thoQ f 
Ay, on thU earthly aim, tbli cbannlng vlilon. 
Turn thy bock rdolulely now I 
Boldly draw nenr and rend tho gate* nunniler, 
Dy which each cowering mortal gladly it«a1i> 
Now U thi! time to show by decdn of wonder 
Tlint ninnly );rcntncHs not to godlika glory yields; 
BcroTo Iliat gloomy pit to Htand, unfcaring, 
Where Fnnlfuiy scK'dnmn'd in its own torment Uei, 
eiiil onwftrd to that pnss-way ntcrring, 
Atoiind whoao narrow raoiilh holi-flamo" forever liie j 
Cnlinly to dnro tlio step, sorcnc, unahriuklng, 
Though Into nothingncu tho liour should see thee ilnUng, 

" Now, then, como down from thy old case. I bid tht*, 
WhcTo thou, forgotten, many t, year liast bid tbe«, 
Into thy nincter's hnm), pure, CQ'stnl glass I 
Tlio Joy-ftimts of tho fjithcrs thou hast brlght«n'd, 
Tlio hcni'ts of gmvcBt f^iicsta wcto lighten' d. 
When, plcdced, from hand to linnd they saw thee pM*. 
Tliy "Ides, with many n cnrioiis type bodight. 
Which each, as with one draught he fiuafTd the llqnor. 
Must rend in rhyme from olT tho wondrous beaker, 
llcmind nio. ah I of many n youthful night. 
I shall not hand tbco now to any neighbor, 
Not now to show my wit upon thy carvings labor ; 
Hero Is n Juice of quIck-intoxIcatIng might. . 
Tlio rich brown flood ndown thy sldoi li streaming, 
With my own choice ln(i;rc<llonts teeming ; 
De thin lost draught, ng morning now Is gloaming, 
Draln'd OS a lofty pledge to greet the festal light I" 

At tiie moment when he is »boat ti iwallow the pouon, Fuut 

868 wAi^Aifg SB staxl's oxsmaht. 

hmn the town bdlt ringing in honor of BiiterdAj, and the 
ehoinof the neighboring choich cdebrating thit holy feut 

CiKttin or AxGiu. 

••Christ hath Aiiaen I 
Joy to humaaity 1 
No more shall TaQit/t 
Death and inanity 
Hold thee in prison 1 


"What hum of mode, what a radiant tone, 
ThiUls thzoDgh me, from my lipe the goUet stealing 1 
Te mmrnnring hells, already make ye known 
Ihe Easter mom's first hour, with solemn pealing f . 
Sing yoUf ye choirs, e*en now, the glad, iwnsniling 8ong» 
Thai onoe, from angel-lips, through gloom Mpnkiual raft 
A mm hnmortal ooYenant sealing? 

Chobus or Woimr. 


" Spices we carried, 
Laid them upon his hreast ; 
Tenderly hurled 
Him whom we lored the bett| 
Cleanly to hind him 
Took we the fondest care, 
jkh! and we find him 
Now no more there. 

Cbobus or AxoxKS. 

" Christ hath ascended 1 

Beign in henignity I 

Pain and indignity, 
. Soom and malignity, 

nmr work hare ended. 


"Why, seek ye me in dust, fbrlom, 
Te heaTenly tones, with soft endianting f 
Oo, greet pvre-hearted men this holy mom I 
Tour message well I hear, but fidth to me Is wanting | 
Wonder, its dsarast diUd, of Faith Is bom. 
To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire, 
tho sweet tldhigs downward float ; 



And fet, from childhood heud, th« old, CunlUkr i 

Colli bock «'iD now to lire mf wutq deali^. 

Ah I ODM how ■irGclly full on me Uia klM 

or hcavGDif love In the Btlll Sabbath (t«ftllns I 

Fropheticalljr nog the bellt with aoUmn pekUnc ; 

A praf ei vu thcD the ecstuj of bUn ; 

A blcBied nod tDyatcrioui jcaraing 

Drew me to roem throaeh meadow*, woodi, utd ll 

And, toidit ft Ihoiuand tenr-dropt btiTDiag, 

I felt A world within me rise. 

Tlukt ttrolii, oh, how it «pcaki jronth'i gleeaome playf 

feel icgs, 

3oy» of Bpring-feRtlTBli long peat ; 
Bcmembmaoc holJi me now. with childhood'! food »pp«d 

Bock from the fulal Itep, the tut. 
Bound nn, yc hmrcnly gtralti*, that btiM roatora na t 
Tears gush, onco diotc the fpell of c«rth i* o'er me 1" 

This moment of cnltiusiasm docs not continue ; Faust is ao 
inconHlant character, tlie passions of the world recover their 
hold upon him. He seeks to satisfy them, he wishes to aban- 
don himself to them ; and the devil, under the name of Mcpbis- 
topheles, comes and promises to pvit him in possession of all 
the plea.'^ures of tlie earth ; but at the same time, ha ia abla 
to rentier him disgusted with them all^ for real wickedness so 
entirely dries up tiic soul, that it ends by inspiring a profound 
indifTcrcnco for pleasures as well as for virtues, 

Mepbistopheles conducts Faust to a 'ivitch, who keeps nnder 
her orders a number of animals, half monkeys and half cat* 
(Afecrkalzen). This scctio may, in some respects, be considered 
as a parody of that of the witches in Macbeth. The witches in 
Macbfth sing mysterious words, of which the cxtraordinarf 
sounds produce at onco the effect of magic; Goethe's witche* 
also pronounce atrango syllables, of which the rhymes are 
curiously multiplied; these syllables excite the imagination to 
gayety,bythe very singularity of their construction ; and the 
dialogue of this scene, which would be merely burlesque in prose, 
receives a more elevated charactor from the chann of poetry. 

In listening to the comical language lA these cat-monkeja, 
we tliink we discorer what would be tLe ideas of '"'"fy if 


they were able to express them, what a coarse and ridicnlons 
image they would represent to themselres, of nature, and of 

The French stage has scarcely any specimens of these pleas- 
antries founded on the marveUoos, on prodigies, witchcrafts, 
transformations, etc : this is to make sport with nature, as in 
comedies we make sport with men. But, to derire pleasure 
from this sort of comedy, reason must be set aside, and the 
pleasures of the imagination must be considered as a licensed 
game, without any object Yet, is this game not the more 
easy on that account, for restrictions are often supports ; and 
when, in the career of literature, men giro scope to boundless 
inrention, nothing but the excess, the rery extraraganco of 
genius, can confer any merit on these productions ; the union 
of wildness with mediocrity would be intolerable. 

Mcphistopheles conducts Faust into the company of young 
persons of all classes, and subdues, by different means, the 
different minds with which ho engages. He effects his con- 
quests orer them, not by admiration, but by astonishment He 
idways captivates by something unexpected and contemptuous 
in his words and actions ; for vulgar spirits, for the most part, 
take so much the more account of a superior intellect, as that 
intellect appears to be indifferent about them, A secret in- 
■tmct tells tiiem that ho who despises them sees justiy. 

A Leipsic student, who has just loft his mother's house, as 
simple as one can be at that ago in the good country of Ger- 
many, eomes to consult Faust about his studies ; Faust begs 
Mophistophcles to tako on himself the charge of answering 
him. lie puts on a doctor's gown, and, while waiting for the 
•cholaTi expresses, in a soliloquy, his contempt for Faust 
^ This man,** says he, ^ will never be more than half wickedf 
and it is in vain that he flatters himself with the hope of be* 
eoming completely so.**' It is so in fact; whenever people 

* TIm fcOewiag is tbs ■oIilo<tiij : 

ICmosTonanjM (in VAUsr't Iqh{^ fM^a). 
**Oii]j dstplis an biiman wit sad lors, 
TlM highisl flighU thsl theoghl ssB 


DAtonllf well-prmciplcd tani uide from tlie pl«in road, thej 
fiod thcmselFM shackled b; a sort of awtvardnesa that pn- 
cecda from nDcoatroUable remone, while men who an radi- 
callj bad make a mock of those caadidates for rice whet, willi 
the best iDtcntion to do evil, are without talent to aocoo- 
pli»h it. 

At last the scholar preacota himself^ and nothing can be 
more imI^ than the ankvard, and jet preeamptnons eageneei 
of this joang Genuan, on his entrance for the firat tine ia hii 
lifo into a groat citj, disposed to all things, knowing nothing; 
afraid of every thing he sees, jet impatient to possew it ; dcb- 
roQB of information, cagerlj wishing for amusement, and ad- 
vaDcing with an artless smile towards htepbiatophclea, who 
rcccirc« him with a cold and contcmptnous air : the contnst 
betiTccn the tinxffpctcd good-humor of the one, and the dis- 
dainful inttvioiu-o of the other, is admirably lively. . 

Thcri> is not a cini^lo branch of knowledge which the scholar 
dositvs not to l>ccoii\,c acquainted with ; and what he desire* 
to learn, lie mv.s R scioncc and nature. Mephiitopheles coo- 
gratulatos liim on the precision with which he has marked ont 
his plan of study. Uo niniiscs himself by describing the fooi 
faculties, law, mcdieino, philosophy, and theology, in such a 
manner as to confound the poor scholar's head forover. Me- 
phistophclcs makes a thousand did'crcnt argomenta for him, 

Let bul tho ];\ng ipirit blind ihos, 

And with hii BpcUi of vitclicroft biod IhM, 

To him hns Jctiiny b «piHl Rivto, 

That unrrxruimMjIy ilill onvsH awMps, 

To tenia tho tVitt lon^ (ion h>tb itrlvso, 

And ill cnrth'i plc^istirct ovcrliuip*. 

lie ilull tliron;;li llfu't wild *(»□<* b« driVM, 

And throutih it* tint unnicuiingDeu, 

I'll milto liini wrltlio, ud ituv, tod itlfftn, 

And midat >1I acnaunl mccM, 

Hit forer'd lipi, wlUi tUrat ill giuoli'd sad ilvta, 

Inutisblj *Lsll liiuDt rvl>caluii«)it'( brink; 

And hsd h« cot, hlmMlf, bL* loul U SMab ftvsa, 

BtlU most h« lo perdltloB ilnk l"—JU. 


all which the scholar approves one after the other, but the 
eonclusion of which astonidies him, because he looks for serious 
discourse, while the devil is only laoghiog at eveiy sulject. 
The scholar comes prepared for general admiration^ and the 
lesolt of all he hears is only universal contempt Mephisto- 
pheles agrees with him, that doubt proceeds from hdl, and 
that the devils are those who deny ; but he expresses doubt 
Hielf with a tone of decision, which, mixing arrogance of char- 
acter with uncertainty of reasoning, leaves no oonsistenoe in 
,$saj thing but evil inclinations. No belief no opinion remains 
flxed in ^e head, after having listened to Mephistopheles; and 
we fcel disposed to examine ourselves, in order to know 
whether there is any truth in the world, or whether we think 
only to make a mock of those who iancy thai they think. 


** Tet in the word a thought must surely be. 


'* AH right ! Bat one must not perplex himself about it ; 
For Just where one must go without it, 
The word oomes in, a friend in need, to thee. 
With words can one dispute most featly, 
With words build up a system neatly, 
In words thy faith may stand unehsken, 
Fkom words there can be no iota taken.*' 

the scholar cannot comprehend Mephistopheles, 
bat he has only so much the more respect for his genius. Be- 
fiyre he takes leave of him, he begs him to inscribe a few lines 
in his Alhurn^ the book in whidi, according to the good-na- 
tured customs of Germany, every one makes his friends furnish 
him with a mark of their remembrance. Hephistophdea writes 
the words that Satan qpoke to Eve, to induce her to eat the 
fimit of the tree of life. 

SoBOLam (fSHb). 
* Ulk Stat Deus, soisniss bonum et maluBL 


" Lot bat the biaTO old nw and mj Mmt, the Mrpont, guide thee, 
And, with thj likeneee to CM, eheU woe one def betide thee 1" 

The scholar takes l>ack his book, and goes away perfectly sat- 

Faust grows tired, and Mephistophelee adriscs him to M ia 
lore. lie becomes actually so wiUi a young giil of the lower 
class, extremely innocent and simple, who lires in porerty with 
her aged mother. Mephistophelee, for the purpose of intro- 
ducing Faust to her, takes it into his head to form an aequaint- 
ance with one of her neighbors, named Martha, whom the 
young Margaret sometimes goes to Tisit TUa woman*a hus- 
band is abroad, and she is distracted at reoeiTing no news of 
him ; she would be greatly afflicted at his death, yet at least 
she would wish not to be Icdft in doubt of it ; and MephisU^heles 
greatly softens her grief, by promising her an obituary account 
of her husband, in regular form, for her to puUiah in the ga- 
sctte according to custom. 

Poor Maigaret is delivered up to the power of erfl ; the in- 
fernal spirit lets loose all his malice upon her, and renders hei 
culpable, without depriring her of thai rectitude of heart which 
can find repose only in virtue. A dexterous villain takea ears 
not wholly to pervert those honest people whom he designs to 
govern ; for his ascendency over them depends upon the alto^ 
nate agitations of crime and remorse. Faust, by the aaaistanfe 
of Mephistopheles, seduces this young girl, who is remaikably 
simple both in mind and souL She is pious though cnlpaUs} 
and when alone with Faust, asks him whether )ie haa aay fs 



'* Leave that, mj child I Enough, thou hasi mj hssfft ; 
For those I love with life Fd freel/ part ; 
I would not harm a soul, nor of its fidth bereave H 

''That's wiong , there's one true fidth osw misl hditfe 


•« Must one? 



*' Ahf oonld I inflnenoa thee, deaietil 
Hm holf nonunento thon ■caioe itrvaik 

* I honor them. 


*' Bui yet without detlre. 
Of man and confenloQ both thon'at kng begUA to ill«b 

** Uj darling, who engages 
To wkjt 1 do belieTO in Ood f 
The question pat to priests or sages : 
Their answer seems as if it songhi 
To nock the asker. 


** Then belier'st thou not f 


'' Sweet face, do not misunderstand mj thought I 
Who dares express him f 
And who confens him, 
Saying, I do belloTef 
A man's heart bearing, 
What man has the daring 
To lay: I acknowledge him not f 
The All-onfoldcr, 
The All-upholder, 
Enfolds, upholds lie not 
Thee, me, HimMlf f 

Upsprings not hoaren's blue arch high o'er theef 
Underneath thee docs not earth stand fitftf 
Boo'st thou not, nightly climbing, 
Tenderly glancing eternal stars? 
Am I not gaiing eye to eye on theef 
Tiirough brain and bosom 
Throngs not all life to thee, 
Wearing in ererlasting mystery 
Obseursly, dearly, oo all sides of thee f 
ni with It, to Its ntmost itfotch, thy bietet, 


And In the ootucionancM when titov Kt •tMOj btMt, 

Then c«U It wlut thon wilt, 

Joj\ Hckrtl Lorel Oodl 

I hftve no nunc to gira it I 

All comet >t ImI to feeUng ; 

Nune li but toand »&d tnudu, 

BKtooding Heaven'* wum glov." 


This morsel of inspired eloqacnce would not salt the clur- 
&ctcc of FaosL, if at this moment he wero not bettor, beckoae 
bo loroB, &nd if tho intention of tho BDthot had not, dODbtlen, 
boon to show the nocotsity of k firm and po«iti*o belief; unoe 
oron thoM whom N&taro has crcatod good and kind, wo not 
the IcM capable of the most fatal abemtioni when thia sapport 
is vandng to them. 

Faust gmwi tired of tho Ioto of Margaret, ai of «U At n- 
joymoDts of life ; nothing is finer, in tho original, than tk* 
Terscs in nhidi he expresses at once the enthosiasm of aciense, 
and the satiety of happiness. 

Faust (atow), 
" Spirit siibllmo, thou gnv'at mc, gnr'at me all 
For KhlcU I pitiy'il. 'Hiou tlltUt not lift In rala 
'I1iy Tiico iii>on mo In n flnmo of firo. 
Gnv'st mo inrjcetlc nntiiro for a icalm, 
Tlid imwcr to iVpI. p"J"v her. Not alons 
A fi.'oiiif;, furmnl vUit dlilnl Ihoii grant ; 
fi'i'p iloHii into licr broiut Invitcdat ma 
Ti> UhiIc, cm if she wcro n bosom friend. 
'I'ho •.■lioa of anlmntul t1ilii|;s 
'lluiii lilikt i«M by 1110. (cftchlriB mo to know 
My Uciithpii In tho wnlcrn. wood", nnd air. 
And when Ibo elorm-swcpt forest eroaki and {roana, 
Tbo giruit plnc-lrco cnwhoB, rcndiog off 
Tlio nolgliboring boughs nnd limbs, snd with dsep rear 
Tho lliiindcrine mountnin cchocn to lU (kit, 
To a info cavern thon thou Icftdcit mo, 
Sliow'it mo inyielf ; and my own IxMom's deep 
Uystarioui wondort open on ay view. 
And whan before my sight tbo moon oomes np 
With Hft effulgenco ; from the walls of rock, 
From the damp thicket, slowlj Boat araond 


The silrery Bhadowi of a world gono bj, 
And temper meditailon't ttemer Joy. 

«OhI nothing perfect is Touchsafed to 
I feel it now 1 Attendant on this bliss, 
Which brings me ever nearer to the gods, 
Thoa gav'st me the companion, whom I now 
Ko more can spare, though cold and insolent ; 
He makes me hate, despise myself, and tuns 
Thy gifts to nothing with a word— a breath. 
He kindles np a wild-fire in my breast. 
Of restless longing for that lovely form. 
Thus from desire I hurry to ei^oyment. 
And in enjoyment languish for desire." 

Tlic history of Margaret is oppressively pabfal to the heart 
Iler low condition, her confined intellocti all that renders her 
■abject to misfortune, without giving her the power of resisting 
it| inspires us with the greater compassion for her. Goethe, 
in his novels and in his plays, has scarcely ever bestowed any 
superior excellence upon hb female personages, but he describcai 
with wonderful exactness that character of weakness which 
renders protection so necessary to them. Margaret is about to 
receive Faust in her house without her mother's knowledge, 
and gives this poor woman, by the advice of Mephistopheles, a 
sleeping draught, which she is unable to support, and which 
causes her death. The guilty Margaret becomes pregnant, her 
shame is made public, all her neighbors point Uio finger at 
her. Disgrace seems to have greater hold upon persons of an 
elevated rank, and yet it is, perhaps, more formidable among 
the lower class. Every thing is so plain, so positive, so irrepara- 
ble, among men who never, upon any occasion, make use of 
shades of expression. Goethe admirably catches those man- 
ners, at once so near and so distant from us; he possesses, in 
a supreme degree, the art of being perfectly natural in a thou- 
sand different natures. 

Valentine, a soldier, the brother of Margaret, returns from 
the wan to viait her; and when he leama her shame, the 
iofferhig which he feels, and for which he Uushes, betrays 
itself in laogoago al onee harsh and pathetic. A man seTera 


Help me, thoa fiend, the pang soon ending I 
What mtut be, let it quickly be I 
And let her late upon mjr head descending, 
Cniah, at one blow, both her and mo." 

Hie bitterness and tang-frM of the nninriNr of ^epUsto- 
^eles tie truly diabolical : 


''Hal how it seethes again and glows I 
Go in and comfort her, thoa dunce I 
Where snch a ddt no outlet sees or knowfc, 
He thinks he's reach'd the end at once. 
Hone but the brave desenre the fidr ! 
Thoa had had deyil enough to make a deotetehow ot 
Fdr all the world, a deril in despair 
Is Just the insipidest thing I know oC" 

Maigaret goes alone to the charchi the only asylom that 
temaiBS to her; an immense crowd fills the aisles, and the 
1>arial-sernce is being performed in this solemn place. Mar- 
garet IS covered with a veil ; she prays fervently, and when 
she begins to flatter herself with hopes of divine mereyi the 
•vil spirit speaks to her in a low voicOi saying : 

Evil Snmir. 

*' How different was it with thee, Kaigy, 
When, innocent and artless. 
Thou com'st here to the altar. 
From the well-thumb'd litUa pmyer-bdok. 
Petitions lisping, 

Half full of child's pUy, • 

Half fttU of Heaven 1 * 


Where are thy thoughts f 
What crime is buried 
Deep within thy heart f 
Prayest thou haply for thy mother, whd 
Slept over into long, long pain, on thy aocodnt \ 
Whose blood upon thy threshold Uest 
—And stirs there not already 
Beneath thy heart a life. 
Tormenting itself imd thee 
With bodiap ef its oombig hour t 

nx DBllUS 0* OOBM£& 

"Woe I woe I 
Could I rid DM of the uovgtkU, 
8UU through m j bnin backwaid and tewaid flj 


"Dieiim, diMlU* 

fiolret mdum In brilli.! . 

Etu. SriuT. 
"WraUisiii[t«a theol 

B&rk I the tnimpet 

The gnjm we 

And thy hwrt, 

Mfulo o'er agiia 

Foe fiery tormenU, 

WiOilng from i(4 Hhee, 

BUrU up ! 

" Would I were hence ! 
I feel OS If the organ'i pml 
My breath were atifling, 
Tbo choral cliunt 
My heart ncro meltiog. 

" Judex ergo cum ledeblt, 
Quidquid latet apparebit ; 
Nil inultum lemaiiobll.* 

" How CTump'd it feel* 1 
The walU luid pUlan 
ImpriBon me I 
Aod the arcboi 
Crush me I— Air I 

> The day of wnth will oome, and the unlTom will be ndneed to 
■ yfhea the Supreme Judge ippaan, h« will diHOTW tU (hit U U 
Dd ikothing '^fcii reEQ^ii uiipiu^«had» 


Bm Smxf • 

«<Whatl hidethoel rinluidahiaM 
WiU not be Hidden I . 
Air? Ugbtr 
Wo^f thee I 


** Qokl iiim miier tunc dSctnrai f 
Qoem pfttnmnm rogAtarat f 
Cum Tiz Joitiit sit Mcnnu.' 

Em Spoot. 

^'Thej torn their fiioee* 
The glorified, from thee. 
To take thy hand, the pun ones 
Shudder with horror. 

«<Qiiid ram miser tmio dictoms f 

" Neighbor I your phial t" 

What a scene ! This unfortunate creatore, who, in the asy- 
lum of consolation, finds despair; this assembled multitude 
praying to God with confidence, while the unhappy woman, in 
the very temple of the Lord, meets the spirit of hell I The 
severe expressions of the sacred hynm are interpreted by the 
inflexible malice of the evil genius. What distraction in the 
heart I what ills accumulated on one poor feeble head 1 And 
what a talent his, who knew how to represent to the imagina- 
tion those moments in which life is lighted up within us like a 
funeral fire, and throws over our fleeting days the terrible re- 
flection of an eternity of torments I 

Mephistopheles conceives the idea of transportmg Faust to 
the Sabbath of Witches, in order to dissipate his melancholy; 
and thia leads us to a scene of which it is impossible to give 

* liiMimblewietdil what then ■haU I Mgrt— towhat proteolor ■haU I 
BByaell^ whfli even the Jaal eaa acaroely believe themielvea saved f 



Seett thou, not thldcer thaa a knifo-blada's bi^ 
A small red ribbon, fitting sweetly 
The lorely neck It daepe to neatly? 


**I tee the streak aroimd her neck. 
Her head beneath her arm, jcn'VL next behoM her ; 
FBrsens has lopp'd it from her shoulder. 
Bat let thy craij passion rest I 

Faust learns that Margaret has murdered tho ohSd to wbieK 
ahe had given births hoping thus to avoid shame. Hor crime 
has been discovered ; she has been thrown into prison, and is 
doomed to perish the next morning on tho scaffold. Faust 
curses Mcphistopholcs in tlio bitterness of rage ; Mophistopho* 
les reproaches Faust in cold blood, and proves to him that it is 
himself who has desired evil, and that ho has assisted him only 
because called upon by himself to do so. Sentence of death is 
pronounced against Faust for having slain Maigarot's brother, 
lie nevertheless enters tho city in secret, obtains from Mophis- 
tophclcs tho means of delivering Margaret, and penetrates at 
night into hor dungeon, of which ho has stolon tho keys. 

Ho hears from afar off tho imperfect notes of a song, which 
■uflBciently proves tho derangement of her mind ; tho words 
of this song are very coarse, and Margaret was naturally puro 
and delicate. Mad women are generally painted as if madness 
accommodated itself to tho rules of propriety, and only gavo 
the right of breaking off sentences abruptly, and interrupting, 
at convenient times, the chain of idoos ; but it is not so : real 
disorder of tho mind almost always disphijrs itsolf in shapes 
ibreign even to the causo of the disorder, and the gayety of ita 
unhappy vietima is more harrowing to the soul than even their 

Faust enters the prison : Maigjaret believes that they ore 
oone to lead her to deaths 

««WeelwoeL Hi^ooimL OdialheChltlstmiil 


Haboabk {fUngi hmtffhmUkMm). 

<• Oh let us kneel, the lainte te eld laToidag I 
See! 'neath the threehold SBOklng, 
Tliere prowUnflf, 
And grim under oorer, 
6fttMiU howling I 

FAvn (aIdimQ* 
^ICaigeryl ICiigeryl 

^ That WM the Toloe of my lorer I 

Where is het Where? He calls I I hear him. 

I'm free 1 VTho hinders? I will be near him. 

r 11 fly to his neck 1 I'll hold him I 

To my bosom TU enfold him I 

He stood on the threshold— call'd Margery plainly I 

Hell's howling and clattering to drown it sought Tainly,— 

Through the dsTilish, grim sooOs, thai might turn cot to 

I caught the sweeti loring, enrapturing tona. 


'* 'Tis thou 1 Oh say it onoe again I 

'Tlshel 'tishel Where now is all my pain ? 

And where the dangeon's anguish ? Joy •givar 1 * 

'Tis thou I And come to delirer I 

I am deUrer'd I 

Again before me lies the streeti 

Where, for the first time, thou And I dtdmeei 

And the garden-bower, 

Where we spent that erenlng hour. 

Faur (*yjv iiilw Ar «•%)• 
'■Oomal Oomawithmol 


** Gomel oome I Tha night is on the 

" Woe 1 woe I Hy mother Tre iIaIh I 
Haye diown'd the habe of mine I 
Wia it not lent to be mine and thine f 
Thine, too— 'tie thoa I Scaroe tnie doth II i 
Give me thy hand 1 'Us not a dieam I 
Thy bleswd hand 1— Bnt ah I there's dampness hsvs* 
Go, wipe it off I I fear 
There's blood thereon. 
Ah God 1 what hast thoQ done I 
Pat up thy sword again ; 
I pray thee, do 1 


*'The past is past : there leave it, then, 
Thoa kill'st me too 1 


** Ko, thou must longer tarry I 
I'll tell thee how each thou ihalt bory : 

The places of sorrow ^ 

llake ready to-morrow ; 
Host glTO the best place to my mother, 
The yery next to my brother, 
He a litUe aside, 

Bot make not the space too wide 1 
And on my right breast let the little one lia. 
Ko one else will be sleeping by me. 
Onoe, to feel thy heart beat nigh me, 
. Oh, 'twas a predons, a tender Joy I 
Bat I shall have it no more— no, neyer ; 
I seem to be forcing myself on thee trer, 
And thoa repelling me freeaingly ; ' 

And 'tis thoa, the same good son!, I sea. | 


« If thoa foekiit 'tis I, then oome with BM 1 

HamabBi ' 
^Ost yonder? 

^ Into iht open air. 





That riti my mother on a ttono. 

And her head li conitiuiily swaying ; 

She beckons not, node not, her head fiUis o'er, 

80 kmg ehe'i been sleeping, she'll wake no moftb 

She slept that we might take pleasure. 

Oh, that was bliss without measure 1 


** Since neither reason nor prayer thou heareet, 
I must renture by force to take thee, doumk 


•*Uigo\ No Tiolence will I bear ! 
Tkke not such a murderous hold of me I 
I once did all I oould to gratify thee. 

"Hie day is breaking! Dearest I dearest I 


**])ay! Ay,iti8dayl the last great day breaks la 1 
My wedding-day it should have been I 
Tell no one thou hast been with Margery I 
Alas for my garland I The hour's adfanolng I 
Retreat is in vain 1 
We meet again, 
But not at the dancing. 
The multitude presses, no word Is spoke. 
Square, streets, all places — 
A sea of faces— 

The bell is tolling, the staff is broke. 
How they seixe me and bind me I • 
They hurry me off to the bloody block. 
The blade that quivers behind me, 
Quirers at every neck with convulsive shook; 
Dumb lies the world as the grave ! 

** Oh, had I ne'er been boml 

MnmsiOTHiUES (i^QManwMoiiO. 

"Up! orthon'rtlosti The mom * 

Flushes the sky. 

Idle delaying I Praying and playing 1 
My horses are neighing ; 
Thqr ■hndder and inort fbr the booad. 

V "in 

Tom Oh 
"H<WTI BMurr 

Sod aJioaid pudon Iter; tki 

890 ifAnAint DX STAEL's OSElCAirr. 

greater nnmber of combinations than onrs, and Goethe seemii^ 
to have employed them all to express by sounds as well as 
images, the singular elevation of irony and enthusiasm^ of sad- 
ness and mirth, which impelled him to the composition of this 
work. It would indeed be too childish to suppose that such a 
man was not perfectly aware of all the defects of taste with 
which his piece was Uable to be reproached ; but it is curious 
to know the motives that determined him to leave those de- 
lects, or rather intentionally to insert them. 

Goethe has submitted himself to rules of no description 
whatever in this composition; it is neither tragedy nor ro- 
mance. Its author abjured every sober method of thinking 
and writing; one might find in it some analogies with Aris- 
tophanes, if the traits of Shakspeare's pathos were not mingled 
with beauties of a very different nature. Faust astonishes, 
moves, and melts us; but it does not leave a tender impres- 
sion on the soul. Though presumption and vice are cruelly 
punished, the hand of beneficence is not perceived in the ad- 
ministration of the punishment ; it would rather be said that 
the evil principle directed the thunderbolt of vengeance against 
crimes of which it had itself occasioned the commission ; and 
remorse, such as it is painted in this drama, seems to proceed 
fipom hell, in company with guilt 

The belief in evil spirits is to be met with in many pieces of 
German poetry ; the nature of the North agrees very well with 
this description of terror ; it b therefore mueh less ridiculous 
in Germany, than it would be in France, to make use of the 
devil in works of fiction. To consider all these ideas only in 
a literary point of view, it is certain that our imagination 
figures to itself something that answers to the conception of an 
6vil genius, whether in the human heart, or in the dispensa 
tions of nature : man sometimes does evil, as we may say, in a 
disinterested manner, without end, and even against his end, 
merely to satisfy a certain inward asperity that urges him to 
do hurt to others. The deities of paganism were accompanied 
hy a diffiuent sort of divinities of the raoe of the Iftansi Who 
npieiSBtod the revolted forces of nature; and, inChrislianilgr« 

892 MADAicB xxB staxl's OXBlCAinr. 

beantjy if we look only at tlie songs, tlie odes, the religions and 
philosophical sentiments that abound in them, are extremely 
open to attack, when considered as dramas for action. It is 
not that Werner is deficient in theatrical talent, or even that 
ha is not mnch better acquainted with its effects than the 
generality of German writers; but it seems as if he wished to 
propagate a mystical system of love and religion by the help 
of tiia dramatic art, and that his tragedies are the means he 
makes nse o( rather than the end he proposes to himselfl' 

I **Wh«t th« BOW Creed ipecUIly wm, which Werner felt io eager to 
pkat uid propegaio, we nowhere IcAm wiUi any dlatlnotnMM. Probably, 
ht might hiinself have been rather at a Ions to explain it i% brief eom* 
paaa. Ilia theogony, we aniipoet, was atill Ycrsr much in pom; and per- 
hi^M onljr the moral part of thia a/atcm could atand before htm with aotno 
degree of cleamcM, On thia latter point, i ndeed, ho ia determined enough ; 
well aaanred of hia dogmaa, and apparently waiting but for aome proper 
Tebiele in which to convey them to the mlnda of men. Ilia Amdamental 
principle of morale doca not cxclualvcly or primarily belong to himaelf ; 
being little more than that high tonct of entire Self-forgotAiIncaa, that 
'merging of the Mi in the //ra/ a principle which rcigna both in Stoical 
and Chriatian cthica, and ia at tliia day common, in theory, among all Gor- 
man philoaophcra, capcciolly of the Trnnacondontal claaa. Womcr liaa 
adopted thla principle with hia whole heart and lila whole aoul aa the 
Indiapenaablo condition of all Virtue. He boliovea it, we ahould aay, in- 
tenaely, and without compromlao, exnggemting rather than aoftening or 
concealing ita peculiaritica. lie will not have Ilappineaa, under any form, 
to be the real or chief end of roan ; thia ia but love of enjoyment, diagniao 
it aa we like ; a more complex and aomotimca more rcapectable apeciea of 
hnnger, he would aay, to be admitted aa an indcatructible clement in ha* 
man nature, but nowiae to be rccognixcd aa the highoat; on tlie contrary, 
to be rcaiated and Inceaaantly worrod with, till it become obedient to Ioyo 
of Qod, which ia only, in the trucat aenao, love of Ooodneaa, and the germ 
of which Ilea deep in the inmoat nature of man; of authority auperior to 
•11 aenaitive Impnlaea; forming, in fact, the grand law of hia being, aa 
•objection to it forma the flrat and laat condition of apiritual health. Ho 
thinka that to propoae a reward for virtue ia to render virtue impoaaible. 
H« warmly aeconda Schleiermacher in declaring that even the hope of Im- 
mortality ia a oonaideration unlit to be Introduced into religion, and tend* 
log only to pervert it, and impair ita aacredneaa. . • . • 

** Bneh waa the apirit of that new Faith, which, aymboliied nnder myth- 
ǥۥ of BaiTometoa and Phoaphoroa, and ' Savioora flrom the Watera,' and 
'Tlinitiea of Art, Beligion, and IjOVo,' and to be preaehed abroad by th« 
•id 9i SehlderaiMlier, and what waa then called the J9kf PmUmA JUkool^ 
aeiloiialy porpoaed, like another Luther, to eaat forth, aa food aoed, 
th>win»ef dscaydand downtrodden PWHslaiitlim I Whothsr 

i M \ .1 H ^b»^. 

894 ifAnAifg DIE staxl's OSBMAKT. ' 

anctitjr of TowB made at the foot of the eroBS. The abbess of 
the GonTenty in casting off the tciI which had covered the dark 
ringlets of her yooth, and now conceals her whitened locks, 
experiences a sentiment of alarm at once pathetic and natural; 
and expresses her sorrow in verses harmonious and pare ab 
the aolitade of her religioos retirement Among these female 
recloses is she who is afterwards to be united to Luther, and 
■ha is at that moment the most adverse of all to his influence. 

Among the beauties of this act, must be reckoned the por- 
trait of Charies the Fifth, of that sovereign whose soul is weary 
of the empire of the world. A Saxon gentleman attached to 
hii service thus expresses himself concerning him : ^This gi- 
gantic man has no heart inclosed within his frightful breast 
The thunderbolt of the Almighty is in his hand ; but he knows 
not how to join with it the apotheosis of love. He is like the 
young eagle that grasps the entire globe of earth in one of his 
talons, and is about to devour it for his food." These few 
words worthily announce Charles the Fifth; but it is more 
easy to paint such a character, than to make it speak for itself. 

Luther trusts to the word of Charles the Fifth, although a 
hundred years before, at the Council of Constance, John Huss 
and Jerome of Prague had been burnt alive, notwithstanding 
the safe conduct of the Emperor Sigismund. On the eve of 
repairing to Worms, where the Diet of the Empire is held, 
Luther's courage fails him for a few momenta ; he feels himself 
seized with terror and misgiving. Ilis young disciple brings him 
the flute on which he was accustomed to play to restore his 
depressed spirits ; he takes it, and its harmonious concords re- 
produce in his heart all that confidence in God which is the 
wonder of spiritual existence. It is said that this moment excited 
great sensation on the Berlin stage, and it is easy to conceive 
it Words, however beautiful, cannot effect so sudden a change 
of our inward disposition as music; Luther considered it as an 
art appertaining to theology, and powerfully conducive to the 
development of religious sentiment in the human heart 

The part of Charles the Fifth, in the Diet of Worms, is not 
exempt fiom affectation, and is eoMeqnently wanting in gran- 


bornt'* Ono cannot help admiring, in tho works of WornoTi 
the perfect knowledge of mankind tbat ho poascisei, and it 
were to be wished that he would descend from his reveries a 
little dlener, and place his foot on the earth to develop in his 
dramatio writings that observing spirit Luther is dismissed 
bj Charies the Fifthi and shot up for some time in the fortress 
of Wnrtsborg, because his friends, with the Elector of Saxony 
at their head, believed him to be more secure there. He re- 
appean at last in Wittenberg, where he has established his 
, doctrine, as well as throughout the north of Germany. 

Towards the conclusion of the fiflh act, Luther preaches in 
the middle of the night in tlie church against ancient errors. 
He announces their speedy disappearance, and the new day of 
reason that is about to dawn. At this instant, on the stage of 
Berlin, the tapers are seen to go out ono after another, and the 
first break of morning appears through the windows of the 
Gothic cathedral. 

The drama of Luther is so animated, so varied, that it is 
easy to conceive how it mast have ravished all tho spectators ; 
nevertheless we are often distracted from tlie principal idea by 
singularities and allegories, which are ill-suited to an historical 
subject, and particularly so to tlieatrical representation. 

Catharine on beholding Luther, whom she detested, exclaimS| 
^ Behold my ideal T and immediately tlie most violent love 
takes possession of her soul. Werner believes that there is 
predestination in love, and that beings who are made for each 
other, recognize at first sight. This is a very agreeable doc- 
trine of metaphysics, and admirably well fitted for madrigals, 
but which would hardly be comprehended on the stage ; be- 
sides, nothing can be more strange than this exclamation of 
idealism as addressed to Martin Luther; for he is represented 
to US as a fat monk, learned and scholastic, very ill suited to 
have applied to him the most romantic expression that can be 
borrowed from the modem theory of the fine arts. 

Two angdS| under the form of a young man, the disciple of 
lAther, and a young girl| the friend of Catharine, seem to pass 
tiuoui^ the whdo performance with hyacinths and palmsi as 

■ft aa mmtimmtlAtwa^ (mUrti; 

898 yiPAint dx stael's oxBicAinr. 

The opinions of Werner, in respect to lore and religion, 
ooght not to be slightly examined. What he feels is assuredly 
tme for him ; bat since, in these respects particnlarly, every 
indindnal has a different point of view and different impres- 

witib bif ejct ^ghtlesn, yet fixed and ■taring:, are we not tempted less to 
admire, than to send in all haste for some officer of the Hdmane Bocietjt 
Seriooslj, we cannot bat regret that these and other each blemishes had 
not been avoided, and the character, worked into chasteness and purity, 
been presented to us in the simple grandeur which essentislly belongs to 
it. For, censure aa we may, it were blindness to deny that this figure of 
Luther haa in it features of an austere loveliness, a mild, yet awful beauty : 
mdonbtedly a figure rising ftt>m the depths of the poet*s soul; and, 
marred aa H is with such sdhesions, piercing at times into the depths of 
ours 1 Among so many poetical sins, it forms the chief redeeming virtue, 
and truly were almost in itself a sort of atonement. 

" As for the other characters, thoy need not detain us long. Of Charles 
the Fifth, by far the most ambitious, — ^meant, indeed, as the counterpoise 
of Luther,~we may say, without hesitation, that ho is a failure. An 
empty Gascon thb ; bragging of his power, and honor, and the like, in 
a style which Charles, even in his nineteenth year, could never have used. 

* One God, one Charles,' is no speech for an emperor ; and, besides, is bor- 
rowed fiom some panegyrist of a Spanish opera-singer. Neither can we 
fkn in with Charles, when he tolls us that ' be fcsre nothing— not even 
God.' We hnmbly think he mnst be mistaken. With the old Miners, 
again,— with Uans Luther and his wife, the Reformer's parents, there is 
more reason to be satisfied ; yet in Werner's hands simplicity is always 
a|>t, in such cases, to become too simple, and these honest peasants, like 
the honest Hugo in the * Sons of the Valley,' are vny gamilous. 

" This drama of ' Martin Luther' is named likewise the * Consecration of 
Strength ;' that is, we suppose, the purifying of this great theologian ftt>m 
•11 remnants of earthly passion, into a clear, heavenly zeal ; an operation 
which is brought about, strangely enough, by two half-ghoets and ono 
-whole ghost, — a little fairy girl, Catharine's servant, who impersonates 
Fttth ; a little fairy youth, Luther's servant, who represents Art ; and tho 

* Spirit of Cotta's wife,' an honest housekeeper, but defunct many yean 
liefore, who standa for Purity. These three supematurals hover about in 
▼eiy whimsicsl wise, cultivating fiowen, playing on fiutes, and singing ' 
dirge-like epithalamiuma over unsound sleepen : we cannot see how aught 
of this is to ' consecrate strength ;' or, indeed, what such Jaok-o'-lantem 
personagea have in the least to do with so grave a business. If the author 
intended by such machinery to elevate his subject ftt>m the Common, and 
-nnita it wiUi the higher region of the Infinite and the Invisible, we cannot 
think that hia contrivance haa succeeded, or was worthy to succeed. These 
half-allegorical, half-oorporeal beings, yield no contentment anywhere : 
Abstnet Ideas, however they may put on fieahly garments, are a elaaa of ^ 

whom wo eaauoi sympathise with or daUght hi. Besldas, bow .m 

n ""** "' "lo mo; 
Home. Theli-, 

•wrwii... """""ill 

400 1fAT>Aint DX STAEL's GERMANY. 

deep feeling of vengeance against him for the deaths of her 
&tber and Torcr. She is resolved to marry, only that she may 
assassinate him ; and, by a singular refinement of hatred, she 
nurses him when wounded, that he may not die the honorable 
death of a soldier, lliis woman is painted, like the goddess of 
war; her fair hair and her scarlet vest seem to unite in her 
person the images of weakness and fury. It is a mysterious 
character, which at first takes strong hold on the imagination ; 
but* when this mystery goes on continually increasing, when 
the poet gives us to suppose that an infernal power has obtain- 
ed possession of her, and that not only, at the end of the piece, 
she immolates Attila on the wedding night, but stabs his son, 
of the age of fourteen years, by his side, this creature loses all 
the features of womanhood, and the aversion she inspires gains 
the ascendency over the terror she is otherwise calculated to 
excite. Nevertheless, this whole part of Hildegonde is an 
original invention ; and, in an epic poem, which might admit 
of allegorical personages, this Fury in the disguise of gentle- 
ness, attached to the steps of a tyrant, like perfidious Flattery, 
might doubtless produce a grand cficct. 

At last this terrible Attila appears in the midst of the flames 
that have consumed the city of Aquilcia ; he seats himself on 
the ruins of the palace he has just destroyed, and seems charg- 
ed with the task of accomplishing alone, in a single day, the 
work of ages. He has a sort of superstition, as it were, that 
centres in his own person, — is himself the object of his own 
worship, believes in himself, regards himself as the instrument 
of the decrees of heaven, and this conviction mingles a certain 
system of equity with his crimes. He reproaches his enemies 
with their faults, as if he had not committed more than all of 
them ; he is a ferocious, and yet a generous barbarian, — ^he is 
despotic, and yet shows himself faithful to his word ; to con- 
dude, in the midst of all the riches of the worid he lives a 
soldier, and asks nothing of earth but the enjoyment of sub- 
duing her. 

Attila performs the functions of a judge in the public square, 
and there pfonounoes sentenoe on the crimes that are brought 


before his tribnnal, vith & nataral iutioct tlwt penetntct 
deeper into the principles of action tli»n abctract law*, which 
decide alike upon cases materially diffcreDt. Ho condemiiB his 
friend who is guilty of pcijury, embraces him in tears, bat 
orders that ho shall be instantlj torn to pieces by horses; he 
is ^idcd by the notion of an inflexible necessity, and hit own 
tvill appears to him to constitute that necessity. The emotions 
of his soul have a sort of rapidity and decision which excludea 
all shades of distinction ; it seems as if that soal bore itaelf 
altogether, with the irresiiUble impulse of physical strength, 
in the direction it follows. At last they bring before his tri- 
bunal a man who bas slain his brother: having himself been 
giiilty of the same crime, he is strongly agitated, and refuses 
to bo the judge of the culprit. Attila, with all his transgre*- 
sions. believed himself charged with the accomplishment of 
the divine justice on earth, and, when called upon to condemn 
another for an outrage Kimilar to that by which his own life 
has been soiled, something in the nature of remorse takes poa- 
Bossion of liini to the very bottom of his Eoul, 

The second net is a truly admirable representation of the 
court of at Rome. The author brings on the stage, 
with equal sagacity and justice, the frivolity of the young Em- 
peror wjio is not turned aside by the impending ruin of his 
empire from liis accustomed range of amusements ; the insolenco 
of the Empress-mother, who knows not how to sacrifice the least 
portion of her animosities to the safety of the state, and who 
abandons herself to the most abject baseness, the moment any danger threatens her. The courtiers, indefatigable 
in intrigue, still seek each other's ruin on the eve of the ruin 
of all ; and ancient Rome is punished by a barbarian for the 
tyranny she eiercised over the rest of the world : this pictnre 
is worlhy of a poetical historian like Tacitus. 

In the midst of characters so true, appears Pope Leo, a aub- 
limo personage furnished by history, and the Princess Hono- 
ria, whose inheritance is claimed by Attila for the purpose ot 
restoring it to her. Ilonoria secretly imbibes a passionate love 
for the proud conqueror whom she baa novrr beheld, bnt whoH 

403 yiPAint db stael's oebmakt. 

glory has inflamed her imaginatioiL Wo see that the anthor^e 
iiitention has been to make Ilildegonde and Honoria the good 
and evil genius of Attila; and from the moment wo perceiTO 
the allcgoiy which we fiuicj to be wrapped up in these per- 
sonages, the dramatic interest which they are otherwise calcu- 
lated to inspire grows cold. This interest, nerertheless, is ad- 
mirably revived in many scenes of the play, particolarly when 
Attila, after having defeated the armies of the Emperor Yalen- 
tinian, marches to Rome, and meets on his road Pope Leo, 
borne in a litter, and preceded by all the pomp of the priest- 
hood. Leo calls upon him, in the name of God, to abstain from 
entering the eternal city. Attila immediately experiences a 
religions terror, till that moment a stranger to his sooL He 
fimcies that he beholds St. Peter in heaven, standing with a 
drawn sword to prohibit his advance, lliis scene is the sub- 
ject of an admirable picture of Raphael's. On one side, a calm 
dignity reigns in the figure of the defenceless old man, surrounded 
by other men, who all, like himself, repose with confidence in the 
protection of God ; and on the other, consternation is painted 
on the formidable countenance of the king of the Huns ; hie 
very horse rears with affright at the blaze of celestial radiance, 
and the soldiers of the invincible cast down their eyes before 
the white hairs of the holy man, who passes without fear 
, through the midst of them. 

The words of the poet finely express the sublime design of 
the painter ; the discourse of Leo is an inspired hymn ; and 
the manner in which the conversion of the warrior of the 
North is indicated seems to me also truly admirable. Attila, 
his eyes turned towards heaven, and contemplating the appa- 
rition which he thinks he beholds, calls Edecon, one of the 
chiefs of his army, and says to him : 

''Edeoon, dost thoa not perceive there on high a terrible gUatf 
Dost thou not behold him even above the place where the old man is 
made eooagknooM by the refulgenoa oC beavenf 

"I see only the imvens descending in troops Ofwr the dead 
whlcii they aie going to fted. 

nm DKAUAs or wkrkeb. 403 

" Ko ; it i« not m pbootom : perhspa it It tha Imi^ of him wIm It 
kloQn >b1« to kbsolTe or oondciaij. Did not th« oM Dtiu predictltT 
Behold tlie giant whou hevl is Id hcATen, uid wbOM fe<t toodi tbe 
earib : he menacei with hia flamei Ui« tpot tipoD vliich we ar« ttnod- 
tog ; hv i» tlicre, befora ni, motionlen ; b« poiati hia flaming iword 
■gaiut mo, Ilk* u; Judge. 

" These flumes are the light of heaTCD, which titbit 
the domes of the RomaD tempiea. 

"Te«, It lea temple of gold, itadiled with peartu, that h« beMS apoo 
hii whitened head ; in one bund ho holds his Duning sword, in tha 
other two brazen ken, encircled with flowers «4ui raja of light ; two 
kejG thnt the giant has donbtless receiTod irom tho hands of Odin, to 

opea or shot the galea of Valhalla, " > 

From this moment, the Christian religion operates on the 

BOul of Attiln^ in 5pitc of tLc belief of liia anceston, adA he 
commands his nrmy to retreat to a distance from Rome. 

Tlic trnucily sliouUl havo ended here, and it ^ready con- 
tains a sufficient number of beauties to furnish out many reg- 
ular pieces; but a fifth act is added, in which Leo, who, for 
a pope, is much too deeply initiated in the mystic theory of 
love, conducts the Princess Ilonoria to Attila's camp on tho 
very night in which Uildegondo marries and assassinates bim. 
Tlic Pope, ivlio has a foreknowledge of this erent, predicta, 
without preventing it, because it is necessary that tie fat« of 
Attila should be accomplished. Ilonorift and Pope Leo offer 
up prayers for liim on the stage. The piece ends with a Mal- 
Itlvjah, and rising toward'; heaven like a poetic iDCCDse, crap- 
orates instead of being concluded. 

Werner's versification is full of admirable secrets of harmo- 
ny, but wo cannot give in a translation any idea of its merit 
in this respect, I remember, among other things, in one of 
bis tragedies, tho subject of which is t^ken from Polish hia- 

404 ifAT^Aine DX STAEL'b OEBMAKT. 

tory, the wonderfol effect of » choros of yonng pbantomi 
appearing in the air; the poet knows how to change the Ger- 
man into a soft and tender Ungaage, which these wearied and 
nninterested shades articulate with half-formed tones ; all the 
words thej pronounce, all the rhymes of the rcrsesi seem like 
Yapor. The sense of the words, also, is admirably adapted to 
the situation ; they paint a state of frigid repose, of dull in- 
difference ; they reverberate the distant echoes of life, and the 
pale reflection of faded impressions casts a Toil of clouds over 
uniTcrsal nature. • 

If Werner admits into his tragedies the shades of the de- 
parted, we sometimes also find in them fantastic personages 
that seem not yet to have recclTcd any earthly existence. In 
the prologue to the Tar tare of Beaumarchais, a Genius questions 
these imaginaiy beings whether they wish to have birth, and 
one among them answers : ** I do not feel myself at alt eager 
about it** Tills lively answer may be applied to most of those 
allegorical personages which they take pleasure in bringing 
forward on the German stage. 

Werner has composed, on the subject of the Templars, a 
piece in two volumes, called the Sont of the Valley ;^ a piece 

> " T\\e Sikfudtt TkeliSj^ % drims, or, rsther, two dmnuii, uniivslled at 
IcAtt in ono pArtlouItr, in length : Moh pnit being s pUj of ilz aoU, and 
the wholo Amounting to somowhat mora thjin eight hundred tmall octavo 
pages 1 To attempt any anaiyitt of such a worlc would bnt fatigue our 
Tcadeis to little purpose : it is, as might be antiolpatod, of a most loose and 
formless structure ; expanding on all sides into Yague boundlessness, and, 
on the whole, resembling net so much a poem, as tlie rude materials of one. 
The subject is the destruotion of the Templar order ; an event wh1<^ has 
been dramatixed more than once, but on which, notwithstanding, Werner, 
we suppose, may boast of being entirely original. The fhto of Jaeqaes 
Molay and his brethren act here bnt like a little leaven ; and laeky were 
we, could it leaven the lump ; but it lies 1>uried under such a maas of 
Mystical theology, Masonio mummery, Cabalistio tradition, and Rosiemoiso 
philosophy, aa no power could work into draroatlo nnion. The incidents 
are few, inA of little interest; interrupted oontinually by flaring shows, 
and Img-windod speculations ; for Womei'a besetting sin, thai of loquaci- 
ty, ka hare la deddad action ; and ao we wander. In aimleas windings, 
throogh ioaoa after aoane of forgaonancia or gloom, till al last the whole 
liaea baftw aa like awUA phsntaamiforiai «tondha!i9adoo«load|paliitad 


which poMCues great interest for those who are initiated into 
the doctrino of secret orden ; for it is rotbor the spirit of these 
order*, than the hiatoricnl color, that is principally lemBrkable 
in thera. The poet seeks to connect the Proo-Masocs with th« 
Templars, and applies himself to the task of showing that th« 
Bamo traditions, and the samo spirit ha»e been alwap prcsorr- 
cd among both. The imr^nation of Werner singularly do- 
liglib itself in these aasociatioos, which have the ait of some- 
thing supernatural, because thoj multiply, in an oxtraordinary 
degree, the force of each, by ginng a like tendency to alL 
This play, or this poem, of the Sms of iht VaUty, has cansed 
a great sensation in Germany; I doubt whether it would ob- 
tain an equal degree of success among oursclt-es. 

Another composition of Wemot's well worthy of notice, >• 
that which has for its subject the introduction of Christianity 
into Prussia and Livonia. This dramatic romance is entitled 
the Croaa on ike Ballk. There reigns tlirougliout a very liroly 
sentiment of nil tlint characterizes the North, the nmher- 
fislicry, mountains rough wilji ice, the asperity of the climate, 
the T^piJ inllucnco of spring, the hostility of nature, tho rudo- 
ncss which this warfare inalJIa into man ; and wo rcc<^Di£0 ia 

Intlfoil licro nml thcrs with pnAmntio huca, but rcprtsontrng nothing, or st 
loaxt lint the aiilijcrt, but the mulinr. 

" In tliis luit point of viow, lionovcr, u n picture of hlmnolf, Indflpcntt- 
antly of other conBiilcrntionn, Diis piny of Wornor'n ma-j allll havs ■ cor- 
tain vdUio for n*. Tlio atninjia, chontia nature at tho man )i diapla^od in 
It: lii« skoptlolam nnil Ihoonil)' ; Itia oiiJucilj, ytt tntrinslo wcnlincM of 
chnrnclor; IiIh bniltoj lonKin(t", but still nnlont cndonvorB aftor Truth *nd 
Good ; hia nonrcli for thorn In fiir Jniimuyinga, not on tho limlisn hlRhwi}), 
but through tho pithlcaa jtillnitudo of Thought. To oall It • vork of art 
wouM bo n iiilnnppncntion of nnnKi ; it i* litllo more than s rhipsodio 
ofTiision ; tho outpourinK of a paaainnnlo and myitlo soul, only half know- 
lug what it Httcra, and not r«ling its own movomiinta, but ruled by them. 
It i." fiiir to iidd, that auoh also, In B groat mcaauro, was Wtmcr'a own 
viow of tho mottor ; moat llkoly tho iiltomneo of tlirw thlnga fOYS him 
auoh Tolicf, thnt orudo as Ihoy wars, ho oould not aupprona them. For It 
ouglit to ba rcmomhorod, that in tliia parforinuica ona oondition, it least, 
of gomiino inspiration la not wanting : Wornor oiidontly thlnka that Ln 
thoae, hia ultramundsne sicumlona, ho ha* found truth ; he hu aomethln^ 
poaitivs to aet forth, and he fecit liiiuaolf M If bound on a high and holy 
mlMloD, InprsuhlB^tt tahlsfgUow-msD." — [,Oar^iU'tXna]/*ff.tKi,—St. 

404 ifinAine dX BTAXL's OnMAVT. 

torj, the ivondeifbl effect of a ehorns of joang phantomt 
appearing in the air ; the poet knows how to change the Ger- 
man into a soft and tender language, which these wearied and 
uninterested shades articulate with half-formed tones ; all the 
words thej pronounce, all the rhymes of the TcrseSi seem like 
Tapor. The sense of the words, also, is admirably adapted to 
the sitnation ; they paint a state of frigid repose, of doll in- 
difference ; they rererberate the distant echoes of life, and the 
pale reflection of faded impressions casts a veil of donds oyer 
miTerud nature. • 

If Werner admits into his tragedies the shades of the de- 
parted, we sometimes also find in them fantastic personages 
that seem not yet to hare reccired any earthly existence. In 
the prologue to the Tar tare of Bcaumarchais, a Genius questions 
these imaginary beings whether they wish to hare birth, and 
one among them answers : ** I do not feel myself at all eager 
about it** Tliis liTcly answer may be applied to most of those 
allegorical personages which they take pleasure in bringing 
forward on the German stage. 

Werner has composed, on the subject of the Templars, a 
piece in two rolumcs, called the Sont of the Valley;^ a piece 

* " Tlie Sokn4d4t TkaUU a dnuiM, or, rather, two dnnnsi, unriyallod at 
leatt in one portioular, in length: eaeh part being a play of alx aett, and 
the whole amounting to eomewhat more than eight hundred email octavo 
pages t To attempt any analjsia of auch a work would but fatigue our 
readcn to little pnrpoae : it i«, as might be antioipatod, of a most loose and 
formleaa structure ; expanding on all sides Into vague bonndlcnsncss, and, 
oo the whole, resembling not so muoh a poem, as the nide materials of one. 
The subject is tlie destruetlon of the Templar order ; an event whloh has 
been dnunatixod more than onoe, but on which, notwithstanding, Werner, 
we sappose, m$f boast of being entlroljr original. The ihte of Jacques 
IColaj and hia brethren act here but like a little leaven ; and Indkjr were 
we, eoald It leaven the lump ; but it Ilea buried under auch a mass of 
IC jaUeal theology. Masonic mummery, Cabalistic tradition, and Bosicmclan 
philoeophj, as bo power could work into dramatic union. The ineldenta 
are fbw, and of little intereat; interrupted continually by flaring shows, 
and l3Bf-winded speculations ; for Werner's besetting aha, that of loquaci- 
ty is hsra la decided action ; and ao we wander. In simkm windings, 
thfoofh sons after scene of forgeonsoeea or gloom, till at last the whole 
lisss hehn m Uks a wild phantsamagoriai clondbMpsdoocloadipslnftsd 


his namo at first, in order to gain his aficction, before he con- 
fesses himself to be his son ; but the father, in his tniseiy, bo- 
comcB greed; and covetous of tho monej that is carried about 
him by his gncst, whom ho believes to be a vagabond foreigner, 
of inspicious character ; and irhoD the hour of midnight strikea, 
on the twenty-fourth of February, tbe annirereary of the pater- ■ 
nal malediction, by nhich tbo whole family is visited, be 
plunges a koife into his son's bosom. Tbe latter, in his latt 
momcDta, reveals hia secret to this double crimioal, the aMaMin 
of his father and of his child; and tho miserable wretch go«a 
to deliver himself up to tho tribunal that must condemn him. 

Tbcso situations are appalling ; it cannot be denied that they 
produce a great effect ; novcrthelew, tho poetical color of tho 
piece, and the gradation of motives derived from the passiona, aro 
more to be admired tban the subject on which it is founded.' 

To transfer the fatal destiny of tho house of Atreus to 
people of the lower ranks of society, is to bring the contem- 
plation of Crimea too familiarly before the eyes of the spec- 
tators. Tho splendor of rank, and tbo distance of ages, give 
to wickedness itself a species of grandeur which agrees better 
with tlie ideal in art ; but when the knife is presented to you 
instead of tho poniard, when tho situation, the manners, tbo 
characters are such as you may meet with every day, yon are 
frightened, like children in a dark room, but it is not tbo 
noble horror that tragedy ought to awaken. 

Still, however, this potency of the paternal corse, which 
seems to represent a providence upon earth, agitates tho soul 
very forcibly. The fatality of tho ancients is tbo sport of des- 
tiny ; but fatality, in the Christian doctrine, is a moral troth un- 
der a terrifying form. When man docs not yield to remorse, tbo 
very agitation which that remorse makes him experience, drive* 
him headlong to the commission of new crimes; conscience, re- 
pulsed, changes itself into a phantom that disturbs the reason. 

> •'OfWiEAUiU(1^0'i),'hii Fitr-vnd-PCantieiU Ftiruar (lMt),hi» Oun*- 
fundt{l6H), uid virloiu other pieces writlcn in his wiu]deTUi|^,»aluTi not 
room to (peak. It in ths loas iiocuiiai7, u Che JU^ tni Tittniy-fimrti tf 
/iiru*Viby madiliiBbe»li(it\iiMB,\i»i^*»!.K»dT b*oo. (brciblr, uid, on lb* 

408 xADAHB Ds btaxl's omouoxt. 

Tho wife of this gaStj peasant is haunted bj the remom- 
branco of a ballad containing tho recital of a parricide; and 
alone, in her ilecp, she cannot help mnttering it in an nnder 
Toiccy like those confused and involuntary fancies, of which 
tho dismal recurrence seems an inward presentiment of fate. 

The description of the Alps, and of their vast solitude, is 
extromelj beautiful ; the abode of the culprit, the hovel in 
which the scene passes, is &r from anj other habitation ; no 
church bell is heard there, and tho hour is announced only 
hj a rustic clock, the last piece of furniture that poverty has 
not yet resolved to part with : the monotonous noise of thin 
clock, in the deep recesses of mountains where the sounds of 
human existence never reach, produces a strange shuddering. 
Wo ask, what has time to do in a place like this ; to what 
purpose the division of hours that no interest varies I And 
when that dreadful hour of crime is heard to strike, it recalls 
to us tho fine idea of the missionary who imagined that in 
hell tlie damned spirits are incessantly asking, — ^^ What's 
o'clock r and that they are answered, — ^••Eternity." 

Werner has been reproached for admitting into his trage- 
dies situations that are better adapted for the beauties of 
lyrical poetry than for the development of theatrical passions. 
Ue may be accused of a contrary fault in the Ttoenty'fourth 
cf February. The subject of this piece, the manners it repro- 
icnts, bear too strong a resemblance to truth, and to truth of 
a description too atrocious to be admitted into tho circle of 
the fine arts. The fine arts are placed between heaven and 
earth, and the genius of Werner sometimes rises abovOy aonM* 
tiniee tioki beneath, this native region of fiotion* 

SID (NT you X. 

T fi^ 





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